Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 44, January 2021

Revista Literária Adelaide

suspicion of political dissidence. Beside me home up north near the Mangshan forest
is a man with an extremist’s heart beating soon after he confronted me at the park.
in his chest.
Detective Hu had pursued them north,
I know you’ve been following me, Zhang continued surveilling the chairman, and
Tianyu says. I don’t move. I should play had reported two more incidents of polit-
dumb. I should protest. I should do anything ical dissidence in the last month. My super-
but what I am doing now. But I sit, silently. visor relayed the information up his ladder
and apparently it had been enough to work
Who are you working for? he asks me. with. A week ago, Zhang Tianyu had been
Mu Yuan? Zheng Bang? I stare out over the confronted and forced to step down from
lake as he names his swine-slaughtering his role as chairman of the Zhu Yuan Pork
competitors. When I don’t say anything he Company. It’s unlikely he’ll face severe fur-
shakes his head. Won’t talk? No matter. I’ll ther punishment. He will come groveling
find out. He stands up, then turns back to- back to the Party with his tail between his
wards me and takes a picture of me with legs and be availed some other, lesser, man-
his phone. If I ever see you again, you’ll re- agerial position.
gret it. Then he’s walking away, out of the
park, back to his apartment. I don’t stand I’m drinking tonight. Alone, in a dark bar.
up. There’s no point. I remain seated for an I’m thinking about how it should’ve been
hour, watching the birds on the lake. me to close the case, not Hu. It was my as-
signment. I was sloppy and it cost me.
*
After the fourth drink I start thinking
I made my final report that night, back at about Chairman Zhang. He had reminded
the van. As expected, my supervisor re- me of my father. I’ve missed him. Missed
moved me from the case the next morning. being with him. Drinking tea, talking pigs
Detective Hu was assigned to replace me. and pig sales. Smoking together and
watching the news. I know I shouldn’t care
I followed Detective Hu’s subsequent re- at all about a man with a revolutionary
ports closely. Chairman Zhang and his wife heart, but I can’t help it. I wonder how he’s
had left their 2nd ring apartment for their doing. I wonder if he ever thinks of me.

About the Author
Jacob McLaws lives in Tokyo. He is at work on a collection
of stories and a novel.

99

URIEL FOX AND
THE MYSTERY
OF THE DYING

CHILDREN

by John Zurn

Uriel Fox rambled through the mountain year at the age of twelve. These deaths have
forests and meadows for much of the year, been happening for a long time and appar-
and frequently he’d meet a fellow sojourn- ently no medical doctor in Hollerin can ex-
er along the way. These encounters often plain why the tragedy continues. It almost
proved to be brief; however, sometimes appears to be a curse. Some children who
valuable information might be shared. are twelve simply drop dead! The parents
When a visitor named Peter Snow wan- say goodnight to their youngsters at bed-
dered into Uriel’s camp, the communica- time, and the next morning they have per-
tion he shared with Uriel could only be de- ished. It’s happening to both boys and girls.”
scribed as a revelation that Uriel couldn’t
readily comprehend. Despite Peter’s bizarre statements, the
look of horror on his face convinced Fox that
As soon as Snow sat down near the fire, the assertions were trustworthy. Uriel also
he described a cryptic series of events occur- felt certain that he needed more specific
ring in a large city, he had visited in a previous facts. “How is it possible that only some spe-
summer. “Uriel,” Peter began slowly, “I once cific twelve year olds die, and why don’t other
lived in the city of Hollerin for six months and young people die who are younger or older?”
during that time, I stumbled upon a phenom-
enon that seemed to be highly suspicious. “I don’t understand either,” Peter ex-
Hundreds of children in Hollerin die every plained. “Parents are frightened for their

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children especially when they turn twelve. cleaning beneath them. Not only is cleaning
Occasionally, younger or older children die, manual labor, but they also think it is filthy
but it remains rare.” work unfit for members of their society,”
Peter asserted.
“What are the authorities doing to uncover
the source of this calamity?” Uriel asked. “Interesting,” Uriel replied thoughtfully.
“How do I become a custodian, so I can live
“The authorities,” Peter continued, “ei- in Hollerin for a while?”
ther don’t know how to find a cure or don’t
care.” “That’s easy,” Peter explained. “You must
look and act like a submissive janitor and be
Uriel felt stunned. “What do you mean prepared for a lot of hard work.”
they don’t care?”
Uriel seemed convinced that Hollerin
“Despite all the deaths and uncertain- possessed a mystery worthy of his imme-
ties,” Peter replied, “The doctors don’t diate attention. As he watched Peter disap-
seem to be making any tangible progress in pear down the trail, he called out, “Thanks
solving the mystery.” for the information!”

“What do you think is happening?” Uriel “Be careful!” Peter yelled back.
wanted to know.
The crisis in the city of Hollerin felt so
“I think an unknown illness is somehow compelling to Uriel, that he started his
involved or something more sinister is at journey to the city as soon as Peter was
work. I just don’t know,” Peter confessed. gone from view. Usually any town’s dilemma
proved to be readily solvable by Uriel’s ob-
Uriel reclined by his crackling fire for a servation skills. However, this mystery of
long time. He clearly believed that Peter was the dying children seemed provocative
on to something; but it was also obvious to him. Clearly, the idea of dying children
he couldn’t describe the crisis in Hollerin seemed difficult to believe, however, all Pe-
in any detail. Since Peter appeared ready ter’s comments taken together pointed to
to leave the camp, Uriel realized he would something insidious. The entire trip to the
have a few precious moments to ask Peter city, Fox attempted to discern the causes
any more questions. Uriel now felt strongly of the mysterious deaths of the young res-
about going to the city, and he knew that idents of Hollerin, but more questions ex-
Pete might have at least, some helpful ad- isted than answers.
vice. Uriel quickly asked another question
“Is the city of Hollerin dangerous?” Several days later, Uriel found himself
on the outskirts of Hollerin. Beyond the
Peter stood up and replied, “The resi- elaborate city sign, there seemed to be no
dents of Hollerin don’t like strangers, and welcoming slogans. Instead, there existed a
they actively seek to get rid of them. Nev- large sign that discouraged the homeless and
ertheless, they will tolerate individuals who poor drifters from entering the city limits. In
work at cleaning jobs like janitors.” addition, the bottom of the sign read: All vis-
itors are required to register at the Hollerin
“Janitors?” Uriel said in surprise. “Why Business Office with no exceptions.
are they special?”
It was late afternoon by the time Uriel
“The people of the city believe them- Fox reached the Hollerin Office, and he felt
selves to be superior and they consider

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tired and vulnerable. But the employee be- young. He dared not inquire why this was
hind the counter simply stared at Uriel sus- so, but when the administrators ordered
piciously and asked bluntly, “What do you him and some other custodians to work in
want. Are you a drifter?” the late afternoon, Uriel quickly obeyed. He
realized, the hospital was far less crowded
“No, sir,” Uriel answered politely. “I was then, so he could more privately access the
hoping to find work as a custodian.” patient records when opportunities arose.

As Peter had predicted, the man became Since patient records from previous
friendlier. “Have you ever worked as a jan- years appeared to be easy to access since
itor?” the cabinets were left unlocked during the
day, Uriel began his search in the historical
“Absolutely,” Uriel answered enthusi- records section of the patient file cabinets.
astically. “I really do a good job cleaning There he found some very unusual entries
homes and office buildings. There’s nothing in the new born records. In each file, there
I can’t clean: sweeping, mopping, polishing, existed some kind of code that had three
dumping, and dusting. I can wash and scrub components. The first part of the code iden-
anything.” tified the annual income of the parents.
This income number seemed to be clearly
“Very good,” the man replied. “Be here important beyond simple record keeping.
at 8:00 am for your assignment. Congratu- The second section had either a (AB or N);
lations!” however, the meaning was nowhere to be
found. In addition, the third component of
Uriel felt fortunate to get a job so easily, the code contained (C or NC), again with no
but that remained only the first step. If he explanation. So for example an entire se-
could delve into the mystery of the dying chil- quence might read: 12,000(AB) (C).
dren, it could be useful; but it could also be
difficult and dangerous. Nevertheless, Uriel Fox felt certain that these symbols func-
felt compelled to continue his secret inquiry. tioned as a method to separate babies into
specific categories. His next step focused
At precisely 8:00 am, Uriel returned to on learning how to interpret the codes and
the Hollerin Business Office to receive his their consequences. Logically, since these
job assignment, and he was assigned to codes were designated at birth, the new
the Hollerin Hospital for his custodial work. born section of the hospital seemed to be a
Ironically, this position seemed to be per- good area to inspect. Uriel eventually found
fect because it allowed Fox to sneak around files that specifically contained new born in-
anywhere in the institution. Nevertheless, formation, but he also observed nurses or-
he learned to cloak his action each day as he ganizing infant trays with tiny metal chips on
labored at the hospital. He endured every some trays, but not on others. This seemed
possible cleaning job including dumping strange enough, however; when Uriel ex-
bed pans and cleaning up patient accidents, amined the medical folders open on top
but he also began to investigate in earnest. of the trays, he noticed some letters and
numbers that corresponded with the other
The first thing Uriel noticed was the ab- patient records that he had just skimmed in
sence of children and especially teenagers. the cabinets.
He could see plenty of new born babies and
many adults and seniors, but he noticed very
few children and these seemed to be quite

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But, just as Uriel grasped a new folder, superior. After having attempted to initiate
he was caught by one of the nurses. “What conversation several times, Uriel concluded
are you doing?” she scolded. “Why are you the people’s attitudes were cynical as well,
looking at the folders? I’m going to make so he decided to refrain from conversation
sure you’re fired!” all together and continued his solitary so-
journ. Finally, he had some good luck.
Fox knew he had to have a believable ex-
planation directly, if he hoped to survive an- Across the street, a large graveyard
other moment at the hospital. “Nurse,” Uriel called the Hollerin Cemetery provided Uriel
began humbly. “I was told to make everything with an inspiring notion. He walked to the
spotless, and to thoroughly clean anything churchyard and examined every headstone
that needed it. Your tray had some dried in order to find out how many twelve year
blood stains on them, so I wiped them up.” old children had been buried there. By sub-
tracting the date of birth from the time of
Since maintaining the cleanliness of the death, Fox realized his friend, Peter knew
trays proved to be the nurse’s responsibility, the truth. Indeed, there did exist many
she found herself in a compromising posi- graves with twelve year old children buried
tion. “Look,” the nurse replied somewhat in them. In another inspirational moment,
nervously, “I clean the trays not you, are we Uriel decided to write down the names of
clear?” twenty of these children and their ages at
death, so he could compare them to histor-
With an inner sense of relief, Uriel re- ical hospital records.
plied submissively, “Yes, Ma’am, I won’t be
cleaning those trays anymore.” His work at the hospital provided Uriel
an opportunity to further develop the theo-
The nurse seemed satisfied with Uriel’s ries he had conjured up at the cemetery. He
submissive explanation, but Fox realized he figured out if he could change from the late
would never be able to examine the trays afternoon shift to the night shift for his job,
again. Nevertheless, he had correctly as- it would offer him many more opportunities
sociated the codes and the chips with the to search for clues. Since the hospital shut
newborns. Unfortunately, the information down at 9:00 pm for visitors and most of the
he gathered still didn’t offer any conclusive staff, Uriel would be able to investigate with
solution, so he realized he needed to fur- fewer authorities to question him.
ther investigate.
It proved to be a simple matter to change
To avoid another incident with the shifts because the graveyard shift had more
nursing staff, Uriel kept to a strict routine vacancies than the late afternoon roster.
which involved doing his work and remaining Equally important few people wanted the
in his hospital accommodations at night. The third shift because it could be labor inten-
problem of gathering evidence remained, sive and very lonely. Fortunately, Fox’s su-
however; so he decided to walk around the pervisor didn’t ask why he wished to change
city in order to seek some inspiration. shifts, either because the shift remained
short of employees or he simply didn’t care.
Fox observed that the city appeared to That night Uriel felt hopeful as he began his
be very modern, yet the people seemed new schedule and carried his esoteric notes
to be suspicious and condescending. They from the cemetery with him.
made no eye contact and acted as if they felt

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Fox returned to the children’s historical As the security guard closed the door,
records and began examining the cabinets. Uriel had already hid the records he needed.
Luckily, the security precautions appeared He allowed the guard to move farther away
to be minimal. Nevertheless, Fox needed to from him and turn a corner before Fox could
unlock the cabinets, select the records on finally relax. Although Uriel had just eluded
his list, and pilfer them. In order to disguise the guard and tricked the nurse earlier, he
his theft, Uriel planned to slip the files into a realized he might be pushing his luck, so he
large bag he had hidden in his mobile refuse needed to exit the hospital and his room.
container. Since he also felt he had gathered enough
information to finally unravel the child
The first night, Fox entered the record death conundrum, he left for good the next
room, but it happened just before his shift morning.
was ending. However, the very next night,
he returned to the room almost immedi- Uriel left the hospital with the children’s
ately after his shift had begun. The files were vital folders and camped at a nearby trail
supposed to be locked overnight, but unbe- shelter. He built a fire and began to consider
lievably, someone had left the keys on top the records carefully. Although the income
of a desk. Without wasting any time, Uriel section seemed to be similar in amounts,
unlocked every cabinet and confiscated the other elements appeared to be exactly
file after file until he obtained all twenty of the same: (AB) and (C). Furthermore, each
them. But just as he began to close the cabi- baby with the code was then assigned a chip
nets, Fox heard heavy footsteps approaching that appeared to be inserted between the
down the hallway. A security guard opened toes of each child’s foot. There seemed to
the door and spoke sternly, “What are you be no direct reference about the reason for
doing in here, janitor? This room is off limits the the insertion of the tiny devices, but the
to all insignificant personnel.” chips seemed to be meant to be inserted in
every identified infant.
“I was just cleaning,” Uriel replied ner-
vously. Fox puzzled over the children’s files for a
number of hours before he finally believed
“Well, clean someplace else, you idiot!” the he had several feasible explanations. He
guard snapped. “I swear the janitors around surmised that the chips had a termination
here get more incompetent every day!” date of twelve years which probably meant
that (AB) was an abbreviation for abnormal.
Now, Uriel realized his next statement These babies were implanted with (C) chip
would be crucial, so he chose his words that ended up killing them for no discernable
carefully. “Sir, you’re right. This is my stupid or diagnosable reason. Perhaps, the actual
mistake. You think I would know enough entries had to do with the parents’ status
where to clean. I’m sorry.” or wealth which gave them the resources to
take care of their atypical children.
The security guard suddenly laughed
and changed his attitude, but not his au- The final piece of the puzzle involved
thoritative tone. “Don’t let me catch you determining how the children were diag-
down here again, or I’ll assume you’re up nosed as abnormal. It wasn’t much of a
to something.” stretch for Uriel to consider DNA testing. He
firmly believed the hospital could already
“Yes, sir. Thank you sir,” Uriel said with
relief.

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be advanced enough to administer the test implantation appeared to be still occurring
routinely. which meant a new generation of innocent
families were about to suffer.
Now that Fox had determined the
reason for the crisis, he didn’t know what Uriel believed this injustice in Hollerin
to do about it, if anything. Was it really his had to be stopped or even reversed if pos-
place to interfere with a society of which he sible. Ideas appeared to be few; however,
wasn’t even a member? Yet it seemed ex- the risks were enormous. Uriel also began to
tremely unjust for children to die at a young question if people in positions of power and
age especially without their parents even status expected more rights than other par-
knowing the cause. ents. He believed that the term “abnormal”
could also be a subjective term as well espe-
Uriel decided to return to the children’s cially as it involved the deadly chip. Perhaps,
cemetery and wait for an informative parent children of the wealthy received special
to come by, so he sat on a bench near sev- privileges. Maybe they paid for additional
eral graves. Two hours later a grieving father medical help. More importantly, if the chil-
sat down next to Uriel and began weeping. dren of the rich labeled as “abnormal” were
“Hi, my name is Uriel,” Fox said softly. spared the chip, where were they? Besides,
Uriel thought to himself, children who were
“I’m Joseph,” the man replied sadly. labeled “abnormal” could also be gifted
“That is my boy, Arthur, buried in this grave.” with abilities in art, science, and mathe-
matics. Isn’t unity with diversity better than
“How did he die, if you don’t mind me everyone being the same?
asking?” Uriel replied politely.
Fox began to look for a shelter or institu-
“He was only twelve years old and in tion where these victimized children might
perfect health,” Joseph replied. “The doc- be hidden away. He passed by hospitals,
tors couldn’t even tell us how he died. How hotels, and even old landmarks and then
can a child die when he isn’t even ill?” eventually hiked into the country headed
north. On the trail he noticed many human
“How’s your wife doing with all this?” tracks that led up to a long steep hill. Before
Uriel wanted to know. “Is she all right?” long, Uriel approached a large unsightly
building and observed several prominent
“She blames herself. She thinks she citizens filing in and out through the steel
overlooked something regarding Arthur’s doors. The longer Fox hid behind some
health. Worse yet, she thinks she did some- spruce trees, the more noteworthy people
thing wrong like giving him tainted food,” arrived and departed. Finally, he summoned
Joseph sighed and began sobbing again. the courage to knock on the intimidating
entrance. When a young man answered,
“I doubt your wife did anything wrong,” Uriel stated assertively, “I want to see my
Uriel answered trying to comfort Joseph. daughter.”

“Tell that to my wife,” Joseph replied in “Fine, what’s your name?” the man de-
despair. manded. With all the thoughts spinning in
his mind, Uriel forgot how he would actu-
Uriel Fox had made his decision about ally gain access to the building. Then he
intervening by the time the grieving Joseph
left the cemetery. He could not stand by
and let the children of the dead parents
continue to be deceived. Besides, the chip

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remembered the name of a person who had issues. Yet even as the crisis worsened, Uriel
visited earlier. “My name is Roberson. Mrs. still had no idea how to remedy it.
Roberson is my sister.”
Nonetheless, just as Uriel despaired of
The young man oddly accepted the finding answers, he overheard three people
phony name, and Uriel was permitted to whispering about one hundred yards up the
walk inside. Even as he passed through trail. The wind blowing in his direction al-
the door, Fox recognized that his thinly lowed Uriel to identify the location, so he
veiled diversion wouldn’t hold up long, so crawled toward the murmuring voices.
he entered the building stepping alertly.
He gazed into the rooms and hallways and A young woman spoke first, “We must
soon observed many children. Everywhere act this week. Our plan is risky, but we must
physically and mentally challenged children not become panicky and back out, so let’s
wandered from room to room, seemingly go over our strategy one more time.”
lost and despondent. Surprisingly, how-
ever, many apparently healthy twelve year A man with a deep voice answered, “First
olds resided there as well. They too seemed we gather up all the chips and melt them
overly quiet and sad. Unfortunately, several down, and then we destroy the chip ma-
supervisors recognized Uriel’s intrusion into chines, and steal the experimental power
their facility, so Uriel quickly found the exit. sources from the core of the reproduction
He didn’t stop running until he felt certain segments.”
he wasn’t being followed.
Another man seemed to be fearful for
The mystery of the children abandoned the success of the whole plan.
in a dingy institution proved to be rather
uncomplicated to unravel. Politicians and The woman now became more asser-
other powerful leaders produced children tive. “Don’t you remember what happened
with genetic abnormalities, but they ap- to your wife, when your son, Jonah, was
peared to be spared the chip implantation. killed? The government might as well have
However, at age twelve, when genetic de- murdered both of them!”
fects in Hollerin always first appear, these
children needed to be hidden away, so their Then the group appeared to grow qui-
parents could visit them, but not live with eter, but Uriel could tell from the general
them permanently at home. Probably the tone of their voices that they were intent on
children in the institution, who remained carrying out their mission. At first, Fox felt
healthy, still had the potential for their ge- shocked that some of the citizens of Hollerin
netic health problems to surface. They were knew the truth. However, clearly they did.
kept out of sight just in case. Uriel crawled back to his campfire; pleased
that he wouldn’t need to solve the crisis
Uriel returned to his camp and pondered with the children. He believed the three
the cruelty and hypocrisy of it all. Those with courageous citizens of Hollerin intended to
influence and wealth kept their children, rectify things.
while their apparent belief in unity at the
expense of diversity kept a city of parents in After his encounter with the three rebels,
despair. These less fortunate parents would Uriel returned to Hollerin every morning
have loved their children despite their health and purchased a newspaper from one of
the local coffee shops. He skimmed every
page hoping to find some information about

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them in an article that might condemn the “but I’m not about to abandon you. I’ve
three “traitors.” Three days later, Uriel found traveled this country for many years, and I
his answer in a fabricated article that de- know a number of cities where you can find
scribed “three malcontents” who broke into refuge. As a veteran outcast, you can trust
the science building. They destroyed all the me to help you.”
important weather experiments that were
designed to help control weather disasters “Why are you helping us?” the woman
like tornadoes and floods. The three traitors from the secret meeting asked.
were to be put on trial the next week.
“That’s because, you three found a
Fox understood by decoding the article way to correct a terrible injustice.” Uriel
that the three courageous individuals he replied. “Were you able to destroy those
had witnessed at the clandestine meeting horrible machines and take the sole energy
had accomplished their mission. It didn’t sources?”
surprise him the government lied about
what happened, nevertheless, the chips “Yes,” the woman answered.
and their technology had been destroyed
at least; this was Fox’s hope. “How many experimental chips did you
melt?” Uriel now wanted to know.
Later, he heard about the harsh pun-
ishment all of them received. Without any The man with the deep voice replied,
chance to defend themselves, the patriots “Every one. Every last one.”
were forever banished from the city and
all three would be executed if they dared Uriel Fox smiled and sincerely admired
to return. The very next day, the patriots the group’s courage in the face of such real
were escorted ten miles from the city with danger. As he led the group many miles
nothing but their clothes to help them sur- from Hollerin, he knew the city would still
vive. Worst of all, no family members would have problems with the residual effects of
be permitted to join them. the DNA laws, but he also knew the sources
of the chips and technology had been de-
However, imagine their relief when they stroyed. For the first time, Uriel felt as if he
spotted Uriel Fox hiking up to their location. were travelling with heroes who might be
“You may be banished,” he said cheerfully, more daring and resourceful than anyone
he had ever known - including himself.

About the Author

John F Zurn has earned an M.A. in English from Western Illinois University and spent much of
his career as a school teacher. In addition, he has worked at several developmental training
centers, where he taught employment readiness skills to mentally challenged teenagers and
adults. Now retired, he continues to write and publish poems and stories. As one of seven
children, his experiences growing up continue to help inspire his art and influence his life.

107

A LESS
PAINFUL END

by Vivek Nath Mishra

It was Ghure’s daughter, Anju, who brought to insert the food pipe. He suggested that
in everything Ghure ever desired and gave they should now take him home and wait
him some relief from poverty near the end for a less painful end. After all these years
of his life. Ghure’s poverty was partially of suffering and fighting with poverty this
self earned. Although it was bequeathed was the only thing that was expected from
to him by his forefathers but he himself his life- a less painful end.
left no stone unturned to dig a darker and
deeper pit of poverty for him and his family. I knew Ghure since my childhood. When
He drank with almost all of the money he my mother would go to fetch the milk from
earned from his vegetable store and gam- the dairy every evening; I would follow her
bled with most of the money his wife made on my bicycle. Those evenings were dedi-
by washing dishes and mopping floors in cated to my new bicycle. The dairy was in
the rich houses in the vicinity. His liver had a narrow street which always remained slip-
completely ruined and kidneys were failing pery and wet. The cow dung would be ev-
rapidly. But still he drank as if it was his re- erywhere my eyes could go. The pungent
ligion. Like religion which has eroded hu- smell of cow dung and urine lingered in the
manity in every possible way but still the air and flared my nostrils. But people never
masses remain adhered to it, Ghure drank seemed to take notice of it and neither did I
alcohol similarly even after it shoved him in those days. I caressed the little calves who
deeper into his grave with each gulp. Doc- resented my presence near them and took
tor had already given his word that it was their steps back in fright. Although it took
now unnecessary to admit him in the hos- only a little time to win their trust. The other
pital, that his days were now numbered. things which attracted my attention were the
Only a month back a blood transfusion was little sparrows who foraged within the heap
done to him but after getting discharged of cow dung for little insects and hunted and
his health deteriorated like an apple rots if feasted upon those. It was a bliss for them.
cut open and left in the air. Doctor was now
against injecting him and cutting his throat It was my mother’s routine to buy some
vegetables on the way as she returned from

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dairy and there was Ghure’s vegetables go violent and snatch and tear each other’s
shop. It wasn’t actually a shop. He would clothes and hair. They exchanged venomous
roll out a few jute bags on a raised platform remarks and physical blows. Amidst all that
in the front of his one room house and ar- Anju lived like she was deaf and mute. She
range different variety of vegetables there did what she was asked to do and seldom
for display. In the night when he would pack uttered much than was needed.
off all the vegetables in a corner of his room,
his daughter Anju and his wife would make There was a belief that he had found her
fire and cook there on the same raised plat- near some station while traveling to the far
form. Late in the night, Anju would wash south on a pilgrimage. He was a pious poor,
dishes right there on the platform. The of course, but pious only when he was sober
platform was as useful as was the room as and it was in his sobriety that he brought
Ghure would roll out his bed there while this little girl home as neighbours always
the rest of the family slept inside. The thing narrated. However, Ghure always denied it.
that caught my eyes was the emptiness of
his room. There was nothing in his room ex- There was one more story about Anju’s
cept a bed, a tin box underneath it and a past people gossiped about that she was a
few empty bottles of alcohol in the corner. product of illicit affair Ghure had with the
Ghure was younger then but looked older beautiful daughter of a wealthy owner of
than his age. Poverty makes you age faster, the truck he used to drive far from home,
perhaps. He had a thin moustache and his long before he opened this vegetable shop.
hair line was receding. He would dye his hair When the owner came to know about it he
and put on a cotton shirt, most of the time threw his daughter out of the house and the
of flamboyant colours, wrap a lungi round lady began living with Ghure but soon died
his waist and sit there at front with a paan of malarial attack leaving behind the girl she
tucked in his mouth. My mother would al- delivered. Ghure brought this girl home in
ways buy vegetables only from Ghure. Al- pity. He couldn’t leave her behind. When
though he always asked for a genuine price he was back he had a long beard streaming
but my mother would bargain as if it was an from his chin down to his chest and people
inevitable custom. thought he had returned from a pilgrimage.
But they always remained dubious about
Ghure, I think, had three children then. Anju’s past and sought for more details.
One daughter he had already married off
and another one, Anju, I think was of my It is quite evident that people cannot
age around fifteen. She was beautiful and agree to any relation of beauty with pov-
her looks didn’t match anyone in his family erty. However, it is also quite true that there
as everyone in Ghure’s family had plain poor are things I do not want to believe in but I
looks. Ghure’s wife was an ill tempered have to because they are true. Anju’s con-
woman. Although everyone in Ghure’s trary demeanour, quite incongruous to her
family, except Anju, spoke loudly and hastily surroundings, gave assistance to people’s
like there was always an emergency and narration. My mother also had this firm be-
they had no patience or time to listen to one lief that Anju could not be the product of
another but Ghure’s wife spoke loud enough those two.
to subdue all the other voices around her.
Once in a while Ghure and his wife would There were other noticeable things
about Anju but her physical beauty got the
most attention. The lecherous gaze of male

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in the area exploited her beautiful looks. poverty and illness does the man’s cynicism
She was reaching puberty and her breasts completely expose itself.
were still to bloom when male around
her had started taking keen interest in her Next year Ghure’s wife delivered a boy.
youth. It’s unquestionably true that beauty A compensation to his loss as people took
with poverty is a sin. There would always it. The son came up well and he was bodily
be men from the vicinity talking to her fit. Later in his life when Ghure had taken ill
playfully, courting her, while she washed it was his younger son who looked after his
the dishes on the platform in the front. The shop. He took interest in the business as he
most appalling scenario was that that there grew up to be no less a drunkard than his
were men twice her age. father.

Ghure had a son who kept playing cricket When Ghure was nearing his death,
in an abandoned plot for whole day and the I remember, he talked to me a lot about
family remained inconsiderate to him. He his younger daughter Anju who had now
suffered from Filaria and staggered while begun going out for work. He told me how
running. His leg was enlarged and he walked she brought medicines that he could never
limping. During those days I always wished think of he could buy as they were exorbi-
for such mighty legs. Sometimes when I tant. She bought medicines that relieved
asked my mother how can I have legs like him of his pain. She had bought a cooler
Ghure’s son my mother scolded me and dis- too especially for Ghure as he suffered more
posed me off without answering. She never in the sweltering heat. The room was now
told me that it was a disease as if even the full. There was an almirah standing erect in
mention of Filaria was ominous, as if the a corner and television to relieve Ghure of
word Filaria was as terrible as was the dis- his boredom as he gradually developed bed-
ease. sores nearing his death. He needed means
to forget his pain, something that could
I remember Ghure telling my mother make him oblivious of his failing organs. He
that he had married his son twice but both kept watching television on his deathbed.
his daughters-in-law ran away only after He didn’t look forward to anything except
a few days of their marriages. A thing like television and alcohol. It was cruel of Anju
that could have broken anyone’s heart but to buy her dying father alcohol but Ghure
the guy kept playing cricket until he died. blessed her for that. Ghure had everything
However, he didn’t die of a heartbreak; no he could think of at the end of his life and
one does. as Ghure told me it was all made possible
because of his daughter Anju. She showed
Ghure’s son died peacefully. He didn’t him the days he could never dream of.
wake up one morning. He eloped with death
as silently as his wives had eloped with men. But how did she get so much money?
I never saw Ghure or his wife crying over the This was something nearly everyone
death. It is hard to believe but once I heard wanted to know. I never had to ask him as
Ghure saying that his son’s life was a waste. Ghure himself told me that she got a job
He was just another mouth for nothing but of caretaker in a big house and the land-
to aggravate their penury. Poverty and ill- lord was very generous. He treated Anju
ness make one callous perhaps. Only in as his daughter and gave her whatever she
wanted. Ghure told this to everyone who

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came buying vegetables. He told this over be a new man, sometimes in a car or some-
and over again to every person and to him- times on a bike- but almost always a new
self to his heart’s content. But it is harder man. I never asked Ghure this and I am not
to believe in sheer love than to believe in sure if he too ever asked himself that. It is
sheer hatred. It is even harder to believe in cruel to say but people in sheer poverty
utmost honesty than to believe in abomi- don’t raise many questions at the coming
nable treachery. Had it been a fairy tale of money. And also Ghure was in the con-
there could have been such a man but it was trol of only one thing and that was death. I
reality and even if in reality such man would was interested in these men like my mother
have existed this would have been sounded and everyone else from the neighbourhood.
unpractically dramatic. I don’t think anyone I was interested in how they talked to her,
believed him and there was a reason be- how they ogled her. I was interested to no-
hind that. Reason is something that is al- tice if they stared at her body in sexually
ways there but it is upon us to notice that aroused state or with mad lust. I wanted to
or overlook. Perhaps, Ghure had decided to ask Ghure. I wanted to inquire more about
overlook this reason. It seemed cruel to us. his daughter’s profession like my mother
But there could be some compulsions of a and other people in the neighbourhood.
dying man. Who knows! They had some objection to her profession,
I guess, the same people who had objection
There would always be a man to collect to her beauty. But I know one thing that if I
Anju from the house. Something Ghure re- never asked him about that it was because
mained elated about. However, one thing I wanted him to have a less painful end as
that always took my and everyone else’s the doctor had recommended.
notice was that there would almost always

About the Author

Vivek Nath Mishra: My short stories have appeared in The Hindu, Queen mob’s Teahouse,
Muse India, The Criterion Journal, Cafe Dissensus, Setu, Spillwords, Literary Yard, Indian
Ruminations, Prachya Review, Indus women writing, and on many other platforms. Some of
my stories are forthcoming in Indian Literature, Adelaide literary magazine and The Punch
Magazine. My debut book is ‘Birdsongs of Love and Despair’ published by Hawakal.

111



NONFICTION



WINTER
IN CANBERRA:
TIME TO HEAL

by Sacha Paterson

I land in Sydney in the late afternoon. The the sun hangs low in the sky. The glisten-
humid air hits me immediately as I leave ing beams trickle down mounds and blind
baggage claim and head towards arrivals. us through the heated windows as summer
My family are waiting for me and I embrace comes to an end. The city is still, as though
them, clinging to their hot, sticky skin. It’s society is on pause while the natural world
March, autumn, but Sydney has other plans. thrives. It’s quiet and peaceful and for the
We load the car as sweat starts to trickle first time in my ten years living in Australia,
down my forehead and I check the weather I can hear myself think as I drive through
forecast. It’s only thirty degrees, but feels Sydney.
more like forty, especially in the car. It’s a
three hour drive from Sydney to the man You can still smell the smoke on the
made city of Canberra. Its designer, Walter outskirts of the city; the broken trees lay
Burley Griffin planned the entire city out dormant in the woods as the beginning of
from scratch when the country required a autumn changes their leaves. The aftermath
capital. It centres around the lake named in of the roaring fires of 2020 are tangible and
his honour and is the only Australian capital scattered on our path as we hit the winding
with no beach. There are no direct flights to roads. These roads are the closest thing
Canberra from London, which angers some, we have to an outback on the east coast.
but I on the other hand look forward to the I roll down the window to feel the gentle
ocean and bush drive home; eager to soak wind in my hair as my family and I catch up.
up the natural beauty of the east coast be- The closer we get to home, the stronger
fore entering two weeks of isolation amidst the wind becomes. The back roads lead us
the coronavirus outbreak. The waves in the home faster than previously experienced as
distance are soft and the sand deserted as they lay empty for the first time in my life.

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There is a subtle chill in the air as April ap- quarantine imposed one and a half metres
proaches and winter speeds ahead. Winter apart rule. We predict it to be our quar-
rolls around faster in Canberra. The early antine trail until the city fully reopens. It’s
autumn days are warm, decreasing to the a nice drive, with a crisp breeze swirling
twenties as we leave the forties behind. The around in our hair and the twinkle of the
concept of four seasons in Canberra is blurry lamp posts casting over us. When we arrive,
as the crisp, bronze leaves fall to the floor we find a spot down below to park, and trek
and the days remain warm and bright, and up towards the look out point. Eucalyptus
the nights fall below zero. The cool nights leaves scatter about our feet as they fall
extend to the days until suddenly and all at from the lanky trees. Said trees once pro-
once, it’s winter. Our unofficial winter starts vided a home for the now endangered and
in April, while the rest of the country is still scarce koalas, however it’s been years since
scorching. Spring rolls around just as fast. we have witnessed one in the wild. The Can-
By September first, flowers are in full bloom berra native trees prove to be a fire hazard
and the chill leaves as suddenly as it arrived. and no longer serve the purpose of a home,
so many want them cut down. For now, they
We reach the Australian Capital Territory drape over us and shelter us from the wind
after the sun has gone down. It’s a small as we watch kangaroos hopping happily
state, home to Canberra; the political hub in the distance. I always thought it was an
of the country with equal parts nature and Australian stereotype, however the city is
urban. The outline of more trees lie by the home to an overwhelming number of kan-
border and the shadows cast a blanket over garoos and joeys. They swarm the city’s less
the “Welcome to Canberra” sign. We drive densely populated areas such as the moun-
past the north lake and swans and ducks tains and fields. We never get too close, but
float in harmony, without our interference. admire their chaotic movements from far
They seem perfectly content as they spend locations or car windows and zoomed in
their nights huddled up together, and we cameras. We turn to nature to escape from
go inside ready for months of doing the technology and yet we turn right back to it
same. Possums scatter about the trees and at any chance we get to capture the beauty
crickets hop around the garden as we un- we are so fortunate to be surrounded by, so
load my suitcases with the memories of my I snap some photos of the lowering sun. I
life on exchange cut short. I make my way always forget how quickly it disappears this
inside, where for the next fourteen days, time of year, but I’m grateful. The walk up is
I merely observe the changing leaves and long and somewhat treacherous in the sun-
feel the months of autumn and winter blur light as snakes and lizards often lay comfort-
together until frost appears and we say ably near our feet, yet thankfully hidden in
goodbye to all heat. the grass, so we are at an advantage in the
early evening hours.
After two weeks of isolation, the tem-
perature has significantly dropped as I take We find a comfortable rock to rest upon
my first hike with my brother. It’s a twenty and catch our breath in order to take in the
minute drive in any direction to a mountain scenery as the sun sets. We overlook the
trail or lake. We decide on Black Moun- city for a few minutes, and before long, it
tain as it is usually the quietest. It provides is nightfall and the moon lights up the sky. I
us with the best chance of sticking to the point to the stars and name them as best I

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can. They appear to be brighter than usual. the city in a week long hibernation as we
It’s quiet enough to hear the insects sur- adjust to the upcoming season.
rounding the rocks, and I take a moment
to embrace the silence. Not since the 2003 However, we are not the only creatures
fires has the city been so deserted. The sight who are home bound; autumn and winter
below consists mainly of the natural world, are a time of hibernation for many of the
with few cars in sight even through the city native animals and reptiles. Snakes, spiders
centre. However, after five or so minutes, and other dangerous creatures are rarely
people start to appear. They look dismayed, sighted during the colder months, and even
as though they meant to see the sunset. the magpies stay out of harm’s way. Come
We cannot stay long as it starts to become spring, all life will perk up again, and while
crowded. Only ten to fifteen people turn up many celebrate this period, it comes with
to the lookout, but in these dangerous times, its own challenges, for example, magpie
we do not take that risk. We hastily find our season. The mothers swoop innocent by-
way to the car through the eucalyptus trees. standers out of fear of safety for their
Never before have I seen this particular spot young. They have the capacity to perma-
so crowded, although it makes sense; the nently injure and blind pedestrians, cyclists
mountains become popular during times and even babies in prams. Along with ag-
of crisis. It’s the go-to place where one can gressive birds, spring also signals the arrival
catch their breath and step back from city of snakes and spiders. While it is a time for
life. We reach the bottom of the mountain celebration over warm weather and beach
trail, find the car and drive back through the opportunities, the hotter months here
CBD. Half of the journey consists of driving come with their own unique challenges and
through the heart of the city and we are ex- the colder with their own unique perks. The
posed to all the elements of Canberra. We absence of these creatures and bushfires
pass the tall, mostly political buildings in the make it the safest time to immerse oneself
centre, the native animals and plants in the in nature.
fields and a beautiful combination of nat-
ural and urban as we pass two of the city’s Ironically, a key feature of Canberra’s
lakes, both of which are surrounded by colder months is the significant decrease
cafes and restaurants. Just like the seasons, of public outings, despite it being the safest
we get the extremes of both. time. This, combined with the fear of get-
ting sick has turned even the hotspots for
Over the next week, winter is in full walks and other outdoor activities into
swing. Electrical storms light up the sky for ghost towns. Once the storms clear, we
days on end as the bursts of thunder clear take advantage of the free space. Only a
the air and make room for even colder handful of cars in sight as we make a detour
days. That’s the last rain we’ll see until Sep- around Lake Burley Griffin before heading
tember. Everyone groans as the weekend up to the Canberra National Arboretum. We
approaches; the forecast predicts frost. We pass only a dozen or so pedestrians riding,
take advantage of our favourite season and walking and running around the sparkling
plan more hikes, but with a new location. lake, most of whom are bundled from head
Our plan is postponed as the storms over- to toe in winter gear. The arboretum lies on
stay their welcome, and we join the rest of the south outskirts of the city, and offers an
abundance of natural wildlife and plants.
We park in the abandoned lot, surrounded

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by trees and insects. There are only four component of the project’s development
other cars in the lot, where there would was to symbolise Canberra’s ability to heal
usually be at least fifty. and recover from natural disasters. The ar-
boretum automatically becomes our place
We reap the benefits of an empty trail, of escapism during the uncertainty of these
both from people and dangerous creatures. tumultuous times. It has a rich history, one
Very few make their way up the same path that now more than ever provides the city
my brother and I trek. It’s a giant mass of with great comfort and perspective. You can
land with various winding paths and trails feel the city healing through the silence and
to get lost on. However, it is not just its falling leaves, only this year we are recov-
beauty I admire, but its history. Following ering from more than flames.
the devastation of the 2003 fires, a proposal
was put in place; the ‘100 Forests and 100 As Australia’s restrictions lift each week,
Gardens’ proposal. Every tree planted in with only a few hundred cases nationwide,
the forest is a rare, threatened and sym- people begin to embrace the winter months.
bolic tree from countries around the globe, Winter in Canberra has always been a nec-
including Australia. An arboretum was part essary time of healing from the harshness
of Griffin’s master plan for the city, however of Australian summers. Now more than
many of his ideas were postponed, some ever, the next few months will give our wild-
indefinitely. The arboretum project was life, plants and citizens time to recuperate
pushed forward to 2005 in order to help from the hardships of 2020.
preserve and celebrate nature. A major

About the Author

Sacha Paterson: I am an undergraduate literature and
creative writing student at the University of Canberra. My
reading and writing focus on both fiction and nonfiction
ranging from essays and articles to short stories and novels.
My submission is a nonfiction piece on the hardship and
blessing of our 2020 isolation in wintertime in Canberra.

118

WHETHER THE
PATRIARCHY

by Joanna Kadish

Sarah and her father, Brian, were watching the backwoods, and not in a suburb of Se-
“The Trouble with Tribbles” tribbles being attle, smelling the delicious spice of fecun-
little furry creatures that procreate like dity, better than any synthetic air freshener.
crazy and overwhelm the ship, when Paul Sarah asked if she could borrow my Nikon
came by, a slender boy with a big head of f6. She was a good photographer, and took
hair and a ready smile. And then “Mirror, photos that won awards in regional compe-
Mirror” came on television and Paul ex- titions, having taken several photography
pressed amazement that the series was so classes at Cornish College of the Arts in Se-
fun. He had never seen it before, said he attle summers and finding that she had a
rarely watched television. Brian explained good eye for composition and lighting. She
about this being the original series of Star knew how to handle a 35mm with care,
Trek, created in the sixties. Spock’s got a so I asked her if she wanted the camera, I
goatee, Mr. Sulu’s got a nasty looking scar, wasn’t using it much anymore and want-
and everyone’s wearing gold lame, just ed her to have it, but she said she would
enough camp to keep everyone entertained prefer to borrow it. I let her decide. The girl
for hours. Brian knew all the obscure trivia was a font of energy, and I welcomed Paul’s
about each episode on television as well calming influence, tempering her bom-
as all of the characters, and the stars that bast, and slowing her down. They met in a
played them, and  Gene Roddenberry, the photography class in high school and then
author of the novel the series was based found they were in the same Chinese lan-
on. Paul had his 35 mm Canon with him, guage class and became best friends taking
mumbling something that sounded like the pictures for the yearbook and newspaper.
“lighting is perfect.” Nature abounded at our Paul’s parents were ethnic Chinese and
doorstep, living at the edge of a greenbelt taught him to speak the language but he
of old growth forest that stretched for miles also wanted to learn to write it. After hang-
above Lake Washington, home to a pair of ing out with Paul for a few months, Sarah’s
condors, so growth was restricted, leaving ability to speak and write in the Chinese
us with the feeling that we were deep in language grew exponentially. One summer

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they went to China with their Chinese class, negative, not with Brian gunning for it, and
touring areas not typically available to tour- said something polite like how brave Sarah
ists. On her return home, she was all fired was to do this, and what a testimony to her
up to go out to dim sum frequently and at strength of character. And didn’t bring up
home to have pork dumplings, which Paul Brian’s habit of having pot as soon as he
excelled in making, and taught her so she got home, smoked in a bong that stayed in
made it for dinner often. Whenever Paul his hands until he went to bed at night. I
came to the house, he appeared subdued, asked him not to smoke in front of Sarah
and deferred to Sarah in everything, and and he said he’d keep it to our room, but the
followed her everywhere looking as if he smell permeated the house, no matter that
enjoyed being bossed around. Brian had placed a rolled up towel under
the door. One time a parent dropping off a
I never saw them kiss or hug, but I child for a play date asked me if Brian was a
thought perhaps they were too shy around drug dealer. It was something no one in our
me or Brian to show that side of their rela- family talked about. Whenever I brought it
tionship. But what was more surprising, the up he got angry and showered me with cut-
first party they went to as a couple, they ting words and after that I left it alone.
not only decided not to drink alcohol, they
chose Dr. Brown’s cream soda instead, and One time when Sarah was home from
when Sarah got home, she complained that college for one of the holidays, she and her
too many of the kids were getting soused, mother went shopping together, ending
“There was always someone vomiting in up at a coffee shop they favored in down-
the toilet so I couldn’t use it.” And while I town Seattle. They sat with their steaming
might have felt the same way in her circum- lattes, watching the swirl of activity of
stances, her remark sounded incredibly ma- mostly young hip people sitting in groups at
ture coming out of her 17 year old mouth wooden tables, through the large windows
though with a slight edge of hysteria that storefronts, the sky leaden with the promise
seemed to pop up out of nowhere, with of rain. Sarah talked about a book she was
its implied intolerance. And over a chai reading for a class that described the cus-
latte the next day, she fervently expressed toms of the Yanomami Tribes in Brazil which
dislike for the attitude that went with the included the selective killing of infants that
act of vomiting, the taking of resources be- were deemed malformed or weaker than
cause you overdid it and not apologizing to normal.
others for the inconvenience you caused.
And in that vein she said she was starting a “It’s murder,” she said. “Obviously the
group to patrol the high school campus to mothers don’t love their children if they
report people consuming alcohol or drugs allow this.”
to campus security. Brian said a lot of sup-
portive things, such as his boost that I heard “It’s not a question of love,” I said, “They
many times in the past that he never drank see it as survival.”
alcohol until having graduated college and
becoming a working man. “Alcohol tastes “How can you say that?”
nasty without a lot of sugar water to ease it
down,” he added. Sarah’s mother thought “They have limited resources…this is
it was a bit much but didn’t want to sound how they deal with that sad reality.”

“We’re talking about killing perfectly
healthy babies.”

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“These mothers think that the good of a lot of people, and forming friendships with
the collective supersedes individual rights, other students from America, and having a
it’s a different sense of morality.” good time forming bonds to insulate them
from any loneliness. Sarah wrote that every
“Where did you get that?” weekend they had something fun to do.
Both she and Paul felt accepted and loved
“I went to school too, dear, a long time by the other students in the community,
ago, yes, but I doubt in the meantime the and classes were interesting. After her in-
history of this tribe has changed. It was tensive immersion in Hebrew she felt ready
widely practiced in ancient times all over to take on the two-year master’s program
world.” at the university, which was totally paid for
through a scholarship. She joined a tell, and
“You went to school too long ago, you tried to describe the processes that she
know nothing.” learned on the job, the patient sifting down
through the layers of the earth for endless
“Yeah, I went to school in the stone hours and salivating over a piece of flint,
ages,” I said, hoping to defuse the anger or jumping for joy over a tiny lump of fired
spiking her voice, thinking that what Sarah clay.  Long-tailed shovels, spades, wheel-
said reminded me of similar phrases her fa- barrows and mattocks were her usual com-
ther said to me when I challenged any of his panions. She never complained about the
statements. “Has the teaching changed?” stress on her back that certainly must have
ensued after digging ditches with a mattock
“Of course, you’re way off.” and spade. She expressed the strange joy of
striking bedrock with a mattock: that bolt of
Later that evening and many evenings pain that shoots up arms and into the skull,
since, Paul joined Sarah on the patrols both with arms becoming toned and strong, the
in high school and in college on weekends, practical physical work strengthening her
strolling around campus and taking down in- body, but the repetitive actions, day in, day
formation, and taking pictures. She lost a lot out, with the occasional cold and damp
of friends when they realized that she was seeping into her limbs, was hard to take,
ratting on them, but she insisted this was and yet overriding everything, she loved
the right thing to do, and her father backed the camaraderie. The work wasn’t exciting,
her up on this. After graduation, Paul was but she found it interesting to learn about
sounding a different note, saying he wasn’t the way the Israelites lived in ancient times.
sure if he wanted to spend the summer in During the dig she was instrumental in the
Israel learning Hebrew, though he knew he discovery of a wall and pottery from the Iron
wanted to go to university and learn com- Age. Because Germany was at the center of
puter science, which he could do at the major developments on the European con-
Technion Israel Institute of Technology or tinent and German archaeologists made
Hebrew University where Sarah was plan- many of the discoveries of ancient history
ning to attend, but wasn’t sure he’d like it. He in Middle East, Sarah decided to learn the
changed his mind again when Sarah voiced German language so she could read texts
disappointment saying she couldn’t do it in the original. She was becoming a scholar,
without him, and assured him the lifestyle
was not much different from what he was
used to and, if he cared for her he would go.
And he did. From their emails and calls, Sar-
ah’s mother learned that they were meeting

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and showing she had an amazing gift with as straight and often wore tunics and leg-
language. gings. Women in this category were down
with the assimilationist, trans-exclusive
Midway through the course Sarah called politics of the Human Rights Campaign. In a
to say that she and Paul decided to go sep- femininity-devaluing society that leaves far
arate ways—there was no break in her more room for women than men to claim
voice, she sounded perfectly calm and sub- a fluid sexual orientation, meaning queer
dued, no emotional upheaval—saying she women are more likely to have current or
planned to drop archeology: “the future is former partners who aren’t women. Sarah
too uncertain, even if I got a PhD I might wasn’t fazed by this, and didn’t care why
not get a professorship unless I’m at the women came into LGBQ, whether the roots
top of the class and get the sponsorship of of their unrest aligned to political or sexual
someone influential.” As an alternative, her orientation didn’t matter to her. Daphne
new plan to pursue a master’s in computer and Sarah co-hosted monthly queer  tea-
science seemed a smart move. She had dance parties in the warmer months, and
been accepted to one of the best schools in struggled to promote their event to their
the New York area for it. School was starting desired audience. They modeled their par-
in a few weeks and she planned to move in ties on the idealized notion of Victorian
with a girlfriend, someone she met through teas with served with fancy sandwiches
an internet group dedicated to mythology cut into triangles and the gay picture of
and had known for years. Daphne had young women dressed in beautiful dresses
visited for a week during high school and posturing for each other. Daphne called it
it was clear that they were a pair. Daphne a “ladies’ tea dance” but that really didn’t
was a big sturdy girl and Sarah was fine- describe what they wanted it to be. On the
boned and delicate, and yet they seemed phone, Sarah said, “I’m not into labels, if
to complement each other. Both streaked it’s a woman I happen to be in love with,
their hair pink and wore sweats a lot. That’s so be it.” She welcomed her status as single
when it first dawned on Sarah’s mother female, able to chart her own course, not
that Sarah had leanings in that direction. subject to any man. She said she was part of
Daphne visited a few times when Sarah a revolution of women who don’t value the
was in Israel and it was then they found that traditional roles. As Rebecca Traister noted
their attraction for each other had grown to in “The Cut” in 2016: “…for the first time in
a point they had to act on their love now or American history, single women (including
forever live in the dark shadows of regret, those who were never married, widowed,
unable to breathe. Daphne offered to share divorced, or separated) outnumbered mar-
her condo near Greenwich, Connecticut, ried women. Perhaps even more strikingly,
near the mouth of the Mianus River. Which the number of adults younger than 34 who
would help Daphne, having graduated with had never married was up to 46 percent,
a master’s in environmental activism, and rising 12 percentage points in less than a
looking for a job. She needed help with rent. decade.”

Daphne traveled in circles of dapper She goes on to write: “In 2009, for the
butches and subversive femmes and some- first time in history, there were more un-
times dressed generically sporty in cargo married women in the United States than
shorts and flip-flops; Sarah easily passed married ones. And today, young women in

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the U.S. aren’t just unprecedentedly single; figure in clingy gray tech fabric that she
they also appear to be unprecedentedly un- wore for jogging.
interested in heterosexuality: According to
private polling shared with the Intelligencer “Of course you wouldn’t know,” Sarah
by David Shor, a data scientist who works said “Adults are that clueless.” She was
primarily on polling and public opinion, wearing shapeless jeans and an oversized
roughly 30 percent of American women sweatshirt like an emblem.
under 25 identify as LGBT; for women over
60, that figure is less than 5 percent.” “It’s nice to see you, too, dear,” Sarah’s
mother said, giving her daughter a hug. “I’ll
Sarah’s mother believes the roots of Sar- make chicken parmigiana tonight?”
ah’s disillusion with heterosexually started
when she was young. She remembered a “Sure.”
time when her daughter didn’t mind her
mother dolling her up, dressing her in the “I thought you were bringing your
cutest designer clothes; we’re talking Ralph friend?”
Lauren, Molo. In those days, she took care
to comb her daughter’s long nut brown hair “He’s coming for dinner, and then we’re
then she’d insist on returning the favor and driving back to school together.”
combing her mother’s hair. She liked making
pigtails, just what I wanted! I pretended to “I’m glad I asked.”
like it, but I refused to go out on the street
with my hair in ribbons and bows. But there “You always forget everything; you know
was something stirring in the air. This was you’re suffering early dementia.”
a girl who valued her independence and
was willing to fight for it. One time at a “You’re probably right.” This said in a
playground when Sarah was five years old, resigned voice. And Sarah’s mother asked
a boy about her age tried to push her off about birth control and Sarah responded
the ladder that led to the top of the slide. with a snap, “there’s nothing to worry
She screamed at him and called him rude. about, he’s gay.”
Luckily I was there and asked the boy’s
mother to talk her boy down. But the one thing about this girl that
the mother loved, both of them read
And then there was my love of fashion classic literature, although Sarah read Na-
that both Sarah’s father and Sarah de- thaniel Hawthorne and Henry James as as-
plored. By the time she started high school signed reading, and didn’t like discussing
she didn’t like dressing up, other than when any of these books, other than the women
going to a formal event, like a prom or to authors like Jane Austin and Mary Shelley
synagogue. It seemed like overnight she whom she adored. Especially they were
turned snarky into high art. made into movies, and it became an event
that led the family to the movie theater.
“Mom, when are you going to dress your Her husband, who never read fiction, only
age?” nonfiction mostly about World War II was
quite willing to see the movies that Sarah
“What’s wrong with my outfit?” Sarah’s picked out particularly Pirates of the Carib-
mother spun around, showing off her slim bean, and Star Trek movies, and anything
sci-fi. Sarah engulfed all of Anne Rice novels
with vampire protagonists, and her knowl-
edge of classic fairy tales, especially the Irish

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and Norse, was amazing and stunned the point to tell her daughter she could do any-
mother that her daughter could speak on thing she wanted, and reach for the stars,
all this with authority. And was chagrined and don’t let anyone convince you that a
that her daughter didn’t want to hear her woman can’t do it (this Sarah’s mother knew
mother’s opinions about the notion of wouldn’t get any argument from The United
fairies or “cnocs agus sibhe” which in Celtic Front). Many times without knowing better,
means mounds of earth, where the fairies her mother strayed beyond the boundaries
are ruled by a king or queen, nor could the the daughter set, and the father had to step
mother mention the mermaids and lepre- in to defuse the daughter, he did this ad-
chauns and the grim reaper headless rider mirably, with humor. He knew how to get
on a black horse, carrying his head in his his daughter to laugh, and dispel whatever
arm, without being told that she got all her provoked her.
facts wrong. But some of story the mother
got right: the headless rider was said to ride Sarah’s mother learned to pick topics
fast through the counties of Down and Sligo, carefully so as not to invoke her daughter’s
and if he suddenly stopped, it meant that ire. A few months back, Sarah screamed
someone in the community was due to die, that she wouldn’t do her homework for a
but she didn’t mention this to her daughter. teacher she didn’t like, complaining that
science was stupid, and she’d never use
When her mother said, “I went to univer- it. I told her if she did the homework and
sity, too. I studied literature and can speak studied by reading her notes for tests she’d
on some things with a little knowledge.” get into whatever school she wanted.

“How long ago was that?” Sarah replied, “I don’t care,” she screamed.
saying the exact same thing that Brian
pulled out whenever I pointed anything I “But you’re doing great in your other
had learned, or disputed anything he said. classes,” I said. “Why not in this one too?”
His belief that anything I read at university
was wrong because, you know, time. he “I can’t hear you, her father said, “can
backed him up on this, they were a solid you scream louder, please?”
front.
“What?” Sarah said, at first looking angry
I could safely ask about some of the girl- and then what he was saying appeared to
friends who appeared regularly in the house register, and now laughing.
but only general questions about what the
parents did and what the girls liked to do I was speechless at Brian’s clever han-
with each other as in what movies they had dling of Sarah’s anger. He was a natural in
seen and who liked what guy (if they were his role as an evangelist for a software com-
straight), and activities, such as hikes and pany, although to me she was incorrigible.
dances they had participated in, when boy- Sarah had my mother’s volatile moods, her
friends were involved, questions that could prickly stance around me, constantly on the
be asked but within strict perimeters. Rarely offensive, and made me feel helpless, not
did Sarah’s mother present an obstacle, knowing how to handle that affronted atti-
(knowing that The United Front of Brian tude not wanting to appear Schoolmarmish,
and Sarah would mow her down if they I deferred to Brian whom I knew would find
perceived any irregularities) but made a the right thing to say. I could see by the
look in his eyes that he felt this is what he
was born to do, and liked that I deferred

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to him. I was deadly afraid of her temper; But the pot smoking was wearing on
she reminded me of my mother who used me and our relationship started to fray. I
to terrorize me with admonishments of the blame the pot. We were in the bedroom
pending evil that lurked around me, and one day and he turned to me and said he
I didn’t understand how to appeal to my didn’t like how I dressed. “I prefer sweats
daughter’s less emotional side and change and sneakers to fancy silks and heels,” and,
her mood. Back in my youth I had walled “You’re trying too hard,” the exact same
myself off to this sort emotional venting thing that Sarah said, several days earlier.
and couldn’t respond properly, didn’t want And then something changed. Whenever
to yell or vent and often sinking into a sullen possible he started directing his comments
silence as a way to deal. I longed to have to Sarah, and not talking to me, and when-
Brian’s facility, to turn anger into something ever he passed me in the hall or in the
funny that could lead to something con- kitchen he wouldn’t look at me, like sud-
structive and could be discussed rationally denly I was invisible. He started doing things
later. It was always her father who calmed without me, telling me I wasn’t invited to
her down. Though I realized she was prob- this or that thing. And then I’d heard from a
ably stressed over her plans to spend the friend that she had seen him with a woman
summer studying Hebrew in Israel and then she knew from work at a party and they
she was tasked to decide whether to remain seemed pretty cozy with each other. I blew
in the country and work toward a PhD in ar- it off, knowing what a flirt he was.
chaeology or do something else. Everything
was falling into place, except the boyfriend Brian was heavily into Star Trek, Sarah
who said he would come with her until he having been reared on Star Trek reruns, her
didn’t. father’s favorite show from the time he was
young, Brian and Sarah watched the show
I jumped at the chance to help her religiously and they tried to best each other
when she said she want to clear her closet on who knew more, and the ongoing discus-
of clothes she didn’t want. I was willing to sions and the ribbing that went along with
do whatever worked for her. She sounded it, challenging the sharpness of their mem-
happy about that, and we trudged up to her ories. During several of those moments,
room on the top floor. I helped her decide Sarah’s father told her not to dress like me,
what to keep and what to throw out. A few that I dressed like a “Guido.” Sarah changed
of the things she didn’t want I liked, and I how she dressed. Gone were the frills and
begged her to keep them, saying they were girly dresses. The new iteration of Sarah,
cute on her. When she wouldn’t budge I what the Jewish call ‘frum’ included skirts
said I would take them—we wore the same modestly over-the-knee, and arms covered
size—and she erupted saying I should dress to the wrist, her long hair bound by a scarf,
my age. Brian, who was on the landing a few and her make up minimal.
feet away, sided with Sarah. I kept my eye
on one sleeveless tunic that we had bought She became rigidly anti-culture, making
together, and asked if she was throwing it fun of girls who dressed feminine and
out, could I have it. It turned out no one flaunting their sex with too high skirts and
cared. low décolleté, the girls who make kissy
faces in selfies. At the same time, she made
a point of rejecting all labels—lesbian was

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old- fashioned and was often used as a pe- patriarchy means). I never asked, too afraid
jorative, she preferred calling herself queer. of transgressing, I seemed to do that over
And cut her hair in a boyish style. Like much, and the triggers always seemed to
many of her friends, she committed to nev- change. In my defense I didn’t care what she
er-ending cycles of self-examination, priori- called herself, I was content that she loved a
tizing inclusion and calling others out, when woman who might have positive influence,
an assumption of shared experience leaves help her be the best version of herself, and
someone dangling, but the second she sub- wanted her to experience happiness. The
scribed to a LGBTQ identity she attracted poet Sappho of Lesbos whom Plato re-
a woman wearing a Neo-Feminist lens, ferred to as the 10th muse, was said to have
which she reveled in. Even for a religious loved men and women, and wrote beautiful
or conservative young woman who won’t poems to that effect, some of which exists
ever act on same-sex attraction, ‘being Bi’ in fragments. It’s an inconvenient truth, and
is enough to allow her to participate in the as Sarah mentioned to me several times, al-
show without getting dragged to the barn most any woman with an imagination can
for being an ‘old-fashioned female’ or risk be a ‘little bit Bi’ without too much effort.
‘being controlled by the patriarchy’ (I some-
times wonder, as an aside, what she thought

About the Author

Joanna Kadish: One of my essays won first place in Adelaide Literary Award 2019 Contest
and appeared in an anthology in January 2020, and I was a contest finalist in the creative
nonfiction category in the Spring 2019 Pinch Literary Awards. My work appeared in August
2019 in an anthology by Riverfeet Press, titled Awake in the World, V.2. Another essay was

published in the Catamaran Literary Review for their summer
issue 2019, as well as in the Adelaide literary magazine
June 2019. My short fiction has been published by Potato
Soup Journal, Literary Orphans, Cultured Vultures, Quail
Bell Magazine, Citron Review, the No. 9 Signature Print of
Urban Arts Magazine, and Crack the Spine’s 263 issue. I was
a finalist in the Black Coffee & Vinyl Presents: Ice Cultures
project, summer of 2018, Cutthroat 2016 Rick DeMarinis
Short Fiction Contest, and received honorable mention in
GlimmerTrain’s Emerging Writers Contest for 2015 and 2016.

126

WHAT LIARS
THEY ARE

by Frank Kowal

It was 1954, and I was six years old, watch- She gave me a box. I put a pinch into
ing TV by myself on the floor of my living the opening, then replaced the cap and
room. In those days the TVs were black-and- rushed into the bathroom. Our sink was
white and were housed in large cabinets. wide. I filled it to the top with water, then
placed the submarine on the bottom and
Suddenly a commercial came on which released it, expecting it to move forward.
really got me excited: It stated that a min- But it didn’t. It simply rose to the surface
iature submarine was included in every and stayed there.
new box of a certain breakfast cereal. And
it ended with a dramatic clip of a huge sub- So I did it again, and the same thing hap-
marine charging at me underwater. pened. And when I gave it a little push at the
bottom of the sink with my finger, it went
I can’t tell you how excited I was! So the forward just a bit before again rising to the
next time I was at the supermarket with my surface.
mother, I insisted that she buy me a box of
that cereal. The commercial lied! And I was furious.
It was an anger that I never forgot.
When we came home, I opened it and
took out a little cellophane packet that con- Now, at 72, I’m still suspicious of most
tained the submarine. It was much smaller TV commercials. Take those featuring
than I had expected, and although disap- weight-reducing diets, where overweight
pointed, I still couldn’t wait to see it move people boast about losing incredible
underwater in my bathtub. amounts of weight after eating only the
sponsor’s unique meals. Because on the
The directions called for the user to open bottom of the screen, in microscopic-sized
the cap on the top of the sub and to add a print and lasting only seconds, are lines from
pinch of baking soda. “What’s baking soda most of these companies stating that their
used for?” I remember asking my mother. weight-reducing meals should be part of an
overall healthy diet and exercise program!
I also remember her answer: “It makes
things rise.” Why can’t these companies just tell us
the truth to begin with?

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About the Author

Frank Kowal received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in education and English from the
Brooklyn Center of Long Island University. Now, after 46 years of teaching in NYC’s public
schools and colleges, he is turning his attention to writing short stories and essays.

128

BREATHING ROOM

by Diane Finlayson

The diagnosis: pneumonia. I receive it the prescriptions, have them filled, go home and
day before my grandmother dies in 1987. I stay there for two weeks, or go back to work
am in South Texas. She is in Omaha. I have tomorrow and I will drive over to the radio
inherited three things from her; a love of station and take you to the hospital.” He
gambling, a shaking case of alcoholism and hands me the prescriptions. “It’s up to you.”
a stellar work ethic that I use to rub the risks
and alcoholism off of me. She is not good I do not like the choices, but decide if I
with children. Now that I have become some am going to die, I would rather die at home.
sort of adult, she is doubly unsure of what to I take the prescriptions, have them filled,
make of me, especially since I have begun to stop by Secondhand Books and stock up on
claw my way up and out of the realm of the Doonesbury cartoon books, get a lot of club
blue-collar work that makes sense to her. soda and orange juice and head home with
a fist full of drugs. 
I feel crummy. No energy. The owner of
the satellite radio station where I work con- I make it home just in time. The fatigue
vinces the osteopath to give me an appoint- is so heavy I literally cannot move. 
ment. I head over to the office. This is back
in the days when everyone smokes. There The next day, I am so sick I can no longer
are ashtrays in the waiting room. I know I read the comic books, nor watch TV, and
am sick because I do not want to smoke.  make sense of it. Day blurs into night and
night into day. I cannot walk through the
The doctor calls me into the examining tiny apartment anymore and instead crawl
room, listens to my back, my sides and my from the futon sofa to the bathroom and
chest. He thumps and thumps and thumps back again. The kitchen, midway between
again, listening for something only he can couch and toilet, becomes the rest stop
hear. He then says simply, “You have pneu- where I kneel in front of the fridge, chug-
monia.” ging liquids. Hours elapse in fits and starts
of sleep and wakefulness. It is precisely at
I explain I need to work, and I do not this point that my mother calls.
have sick leave. I explain I am in the cast of
“The Crucible” at the local theater and they “Say,” she begins, as she always does
need me to show up.  when something matters to her. “Ed just
called to tell me that your Grandma died
He says, while scribbling on his prescrip- yesterday. I need you to come to Omaha
tion pad, “You have a choice. Take these with me for the funeral.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“I have pneumonia.” I say. cannot will myself back to wakefulness. And
then, miraculously, the phone rings. It is my
“The funeral is the day after tomorrow. sponsor, Linda.
You can fly. Get a plane out of Corpus
through Dallas to Omaha. I mean,” she con- “My grandmother died, and my mother
tinues, “you wouldn’t have to drive.” wants me to meet her in Omaha for the
funeral day after tomorrow,” I say. The TV
I am aware of the weight of the receiver whispers in the background and I realize I
in my hand, curious about the sound of this am watching a continuation of a story that I
woman’s voice coming out of the hand by watched in my teens, with one of the same
my ear. I cough and reach for the inhaler, actresses. The world feels slanted as if I am
close one eye to see if I can decipher the beginning to slip toward the edge. I lay back
directions. They just swim. I feel like Bill the on the sofa. 
Cat. GAK! 
“If I recall correctly, you are sick,” Linda
“I’ve got pneumonia, Ma” I repeat. “I says. “And I don’t mean you have some
don’t think I can go.” sniffles. You are good and sick.” As if to
punctuate the end of the sentence, a wet,
“How do you know you have pneu- “HOOS-hoos-hoos” of a cough flies out of
monia?” she asks. me. The effort of coughing makes the ceiling
above me spin, even while I am lying on the
I begin to shiver and sweat. “Well, I can’t couch. 
breathe, I have no energy and the Hensler’s
sent me to a doctor who said I have pneu- “Yes,” I say. “I am sick.” 
monia. I was going to tell you Sunday when
I called.” “And if one of the girls you look after
came to you and asked you what they
Lost in the shuffle of days, I am fairly sure should do, if they were in this situation,
it is still Thursday. My mother and I speak what would you tell them.”
weekly. Back in the days of landlines and
long-distance charges she never, ever calls “Too sick.” I croak.
me, unless someone dies. That is her job.
Otherwise, forever and always, it is my job “That’s right.” She says this patiently and
to call her weekly to check in and listen to not unkindly. “You are too sick to be trav-
what is happening to her. I do not yet tell eling to Omaha for a funeral. You do that
her much about my life, because well, some and the rest of us will be going to your fu-
things are on a need to know basis, and I neral. We do not want that.”
figure most of my life consists of situations
about which she just does not need to know. The orange cat delighting in the fact
that I am home, wedges himself between
“Well, you can fly, right? I mean, that’s me and the back of the futon and purrs
not like driving to Omaha is it?” furiously. When I cough, he eyes me suspi-
ciously and jumps down.
“I gotta go, Ma.” I say. “I need to sleep on
it. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”  Once again, I am aware of the weight of
the phone in my hand and the sound of this
The call saps all my strength and I am woman’s voice in my ear and once again,
asleep again as soon as I hang up. I need to before the phone hits the cradle, I crash into
call my sponsor and ask her what to do but I sleep again. 

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The sleep, crawl, drink, sleep routine “You shouldn’t be here,” Chuck scolds.
continues for what feels like forever. I am “You should be at home.”
flabbergasted by how thirsty I am even as I
drown in my own fluids.  “It’s okay.” I say. “I’m alright to run the
board. How much energy can it take?”
My mother takes the news of my staying
home poorly, but there is nothing I can do I realize the drive cost me more energy
about it. Literally. than I anticipated it would. I pull up a stool,
sit in front of the control board and say,
After five days I turn a corner. I can walk “Get outta here. You have a game to call.” 
to the toilet. I can watch TV for 20 minutes
before I lose the plot. I can read a few pages Chuck rolls his eyes. “I’m locking the door
of Doonesbury again and smile.  when I leave. There should not be anyone else
around tonight. I’ll come back and check on
In another five days I am comfortable you. You are not to go home until I am back.”
getting up and cooking food for myself. I
walk to the street to pick up my mail from “Yes, sir,” I say and give him a backhanded
the box and Linda brings a meeting to the salute. I settle in for a long and boring game. 
house. It is good to have these four women
in the house and to have something besides I am drinking tea and not smoking. Not
the TV and comic books to think about. I much anyway. I have smoked three ciga-
have been home for 12 days. rettes all day, which is about 17 fewer than
usual, but who’s counting. When the game
On day 13 I decide I can go back to work is over and Chuck returns, flush with the ex-
just to run the control board for the high citement of a win, I realize there is no way
school football game. This is part of my that I am going to be able to drive home. 
job. During football season I sit in the con-
trol room of the radio station, while Chuck, “So?” he says. “How did it go?”
the newsman, does the play by play of the
Rockport High School home football games. I am so exhausted I can hardly hold my
I know I am getting better because I am eyes open. It is as if he suddenly sees what
looking forward to being out of the house.  I feel.

It is a 55-minute drive out of Corpus “Nope, you are not driving home.”
to Rockport. I get in the champagne beige He goes to the phone and calls his wife,
Honda Civic hatchback, my first real car, and Brenda. “Casey can sleep on the couch. She
drive over the bridge to Portland, around can’t drive home,” he tells her. He pauses
the curve to the right past the sandwich for a minute, I think I see his neck stiffen,
shop my friend Sally’s family owns, on and then he is saying,” I’m hanging up.”
through Aransas Pass and then turn down
the shell and dirt road to the radio sta- He turns to me and says, “C’mon.”
tion. Although all the ads say that KPLAY is
in Rockport it is squarely in the middle of I follow him obediently to the old Toyota
nowhere. Scorpions live in the crawl space Corolla. There is no AC in the car, and we
above the building and in the wet season drive through the night with the windows
king snakes come out of the brush to warm rolled down, in silence. I can smell the salt
up on the parking lot. I arrive, check around of the bay and the moon shines brightly
the car, and head into the station.  overhead now. The breeze is warm and soft. 

Brenda is not waiting for us. She is off
to bed. Casey is on the couch, peeking out

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from under a sheet, giggling because some- Friday is opening night and Chuck usu-
thing different is happening.  ally brings his kids. As I peek out of the
wings before we begin, I notice he is on his
“Right this way,” Chuck says to me and own tonight. I am a little sad. I enjoy having
“Thanks for taking the couch, buddy,” to the kids there. I am anxious, jittery, glad the
Casey.  part of Elizabeth Proctor is a small one. I am
in the first and last acts and have the whole
Voices from the kitchen wake me in the second act to lay down. As I wait for my cue
morning. When I make my way there, Chuck to enter, I wonder what is wrong with me.
is reading the paper and drinking coffee. What is it that requires me to go to such
Brenda does the kids breakfast dishes, and great lengths to get this attention? Is that
everything seems fine.  the issue? That I need too much attention,
like all my exes claim? I decide not to listen
“Thanks for letting me stay,” I say to to the voice of my lower self and step out
them both. “There was no way to know on stage. The lights are pink and yellow and
how much the drive was going to take out bright. The cast moves well through the
of me.” script. I can feel the audience craning for-
ward in their seats. It is dark and quiet, and
“You better go home and get ready for the intimacy of this shared moment grabs
the week,” Chuck says. “The Hensler’s are ex- me. It is an intimacy between actor and au-
pecting you on Monday. Brenda went with me dience in the dark, where we all agree to
earlier and we brought your car back here.” be something, someone, for each other,
to challenge and delight and push and pull
“Oh, wow. Thanks,” I say. “This coming each other, between action and reaction.
week is dress rehearsal for the play as well. It is at that moment that I realize the man
I hope I can manage it all.” who is playing my husband, John Proctor,
has just blown a line. I look at him and see
“Good luck with that,” he says. Brenda terror in his eyes. He is lost. I begin to say
leaves the room. his lines in a fashion that I hope will allow
him to pick up and begin again. It feels like
“Okay, then,” I say. “I better get going.” a motor that won’t quite take. I yank the
cord, and yank again, waiting for the whir of
“Just go rest,” he says. the engine. Yank (more lines) and wait, yank
(another couple of lines, refashioned gram-
I nod and head for the door. matically to come out of my mouth, thinking
on my feet with the energy draining out of
Monday, I find that I can manage the full my heel) and wait for it, there it is. He’s up
day at work and the drive there and back, and running again and we are all right. 
but I lay down at home before going to the
tech week rehearsals. Tech week is boring The actor playing Reverend Parris joins
and hard. Hours of boredom punctuated us on stage when he is supposed to. He is,
by moments of panic and indecision on the however, reciting the lines for Act 3 during
part of the actors, director and tech team. Act 1 and, once again I am on stage with
I lay on the floor backstage in between my an actor who cannot act his way out of a
speaking parts. I figure if I just rest, I will be paper bag. My pneumonia-soaked brain
able to manage this, but I have the sense
that someone has pulled a plug out of my
heel and my energy is draining out, some-
times quickly, sometimes slowly. 

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spins in search of a set of words or clues them home tonight, but he’s coming back
that will steer him back into Act One. My next week and will make sure they come
stage husband realizes what is happening then, too.
and we regard each other as the Reverend
expounds. Together, we work to redirect By the end of the two-week run I am
the good Rev back to Act One. He stops and pretty much fine, although it takes nearly
sputters and, in another minute, we are all three months for me to get my energy fully
in the right scene of the right act, working back. The cat is back to being irritated with
our way toward lunacy and witch trials. me for being out too much. My grand-
mother leaves a small bit of money to me in
Chuck waits around after the perfor- her will and her treasured pair of diamond
mance is over to congratulate me. We earrings. These mean the world to me as I
guffaw in a private corner of the dressing know just how hard she worked to get
room regarding the mess the two guys I’m them. Chuck backs up from his knight in
working with nearly made of the play. He shining armor role, to Brenda’s great relief
tells me he is glad I am on the mend and and Mother sort of forgives me, even
that he worries about me. When I ask though she continues having a heck of a
where the kids are, he shrugs and says that time giving me any breathing room.
Brenda had chores for them to do, so he left

About the Author

Diane Finlayson, the department chair for the MS Yoga
Therapy program at Maryland University of Integrative
Health (MUIH) holds a masters degree from Johns Hopkins
University for her thesis on the practice of Ayurveda in
American, is an MFA Candidate from Mississippi University
for Women, and is also a graduate of One Spirit Interfaith
Seminary in New York. Diane served as the afternoon drive
newscaster for nearly two decades at Baltimore’s NPR
affiliate, WYPR-FM. She has been clean and sober for over
30 years.

133

ROAD TRIP

by Elizabeth Bernays

“I want to take you camping in the motor- I laughed, and we soon found ourselves
home.” at the Park without the maps.

“Really?” I replied doubtfully. My back- Happily, Dead Horse Ranch State Park, with
ground of camping involved long hikes with the fast-flowing Verde River lined with cotton-
a backpack with sleeping bag and dried wood trees, was green and very quiet. Linda
food. The crowded RV parks along noisy disconnected her truck that was our tow ve-
freeways seeded hideous. hicle and parked and backed the motorhome
into its numbered site under a mesquite tree,
“Oh Babe, there’s tons of places you as I admired the shady, spacious lot.
would like. I love you. National Parks and ev-
erything.” “So Babe, come and see. Here’s where
you plug in the power. Now you unroll the
“It’s Okay with John?” hose and attach it to the tap here. I’ll do the
sewer later cos the holding tank is almost
“Sure. He’d be glad to have the motor- empty.”
home used.
I went inside and turned the fridge from
I had some qualms about the vagueness. propane to electricity, switched the water
We were off to Utah but had no itinerary pump that brings water from the tank to
and no definitive return time, though I did mains water, and ran it through the pipes.
wonder if Linda had more in mind than she
let on. The first day out of Tucson, we de- Leaving Yoyo kitty in the motorhome, we
cided to camp near Cottonwood so I studied walked with Bailey through the mesquite
guidebooks and chose Dead Horse Ranch forest to the river and I caught sight of my
State Park. Linda drove and I had the maps. first zone-tailed hawk. “Look Bub, zone tail!”

As we got close I pronounced, “It looks Linda looked at me, “Oh Babe, I’s too ex-
as though you need to take the next one to cited for birds! Just us for weeks! I got you
the northwest and go about three miles and all to myself.”
maybe the turn will be on Tenth Street.”
“Yes, Babe, I’m excited too,” but it was
Linda looked across at me. “You need to my sweetheart’s animation that gave me
circumvent the parallaxes and intercept at the most joy.
the peripheral and then figure out the cer-
ebellum and dissect for the angle of prox-
imity to the vortex.”

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Suddenly, Bailey jumped into a muddy greeted us, with the waters of Lake Powell
flume. “Bailey get outa that dirty water or extending into every nook and cranny of
you’ll get kama sutra.” what was once, according to David Brower
in Let the River Run Through it, a hundred
“Giardia?” I laughed, throwing a stick paradises. The apparatus of electric power—
over Linda’s shoulder without thinking. dozens of giant steel pylons with high-ten-
sion wires—stood as industrial ornaments
“Son of a bitch,” she said, “I thought it on the red rocky heights. I had read Edward
was a snake. Scared the fuck outa me.” Abbey and listened to Richard Shelton read
his poems. Clearly, Glen Canyon was one
I smiled. Almost anything would scare of those places that should have been pre-
the fuck outa her. served, though I had no concept of its glory
before the Dam, before the making of Lake
After cooking dinner on the barbecue Powell. It was late afternoon and the rays
grill we sat watching the sunset. of the sun hit the rocks red and pink. Across
from us, fantastic red-brown cliffs began
“I’m freezin,” complained Linda, though abruptly 140 feet above the surface of the
it was warm. Then, “I’m burnin up.” water. In the gap between the water and
the brown cliffs, a white salty deposit told
I was used to this, with Linda in the of the water level years earlier.
throes of menopause. Coats or bedclothes
came on and off. And she often had tummy “Gorgeous,” I whispered.
take, booboo, spasm, or painful finger.
Linda was, by her own admission, a wuss. “Holy fuck!” shouted Linda.

Next morning, as we watched lesser gold- We made our way down to Wahweap
finches at a feeder, Linda remarked, “Hey, campground where craggy mountains,
they’s good at taking off the outside of the sheer cliffs, canyons and islands filled the
seed.” view, with no trees to interrupt it. We set-
tled into a site with a 180-degree panorama.
I smiled at her interest, remembering
how I had once tried to tell Linda about “You know they’s not American if they
their habits and she had shouted. “Its just don’t reply when you say hi,” Linda noted,
a little yella bird.” after returning from an evening walk round
the campsite. But she was ready for action:
After a short silence Linda said suddenly, “Let’s take the kayaks out.”
“Sorry for that,” and I looked at her ques-
tioningly. “Sure.” And we drove Linda’s truck with
the two kayaks on top and drove to the wa-
“Sorry about the fortuitous but a breeze ter’s edge.
so you couldn’t smell it.”
“You hold the front end there while I
It took a minute for me to realize she unhook the back.” Eventually we got them
referred to a fart. Earlier she had used the down and into the water. We paddled out
word “elevator” to describe a fart, since to a mountain of rock rising from the lake.
she’d once expelled one in an elevator. I raced along ahead as Linda called from
After a bathroom trip she would sometimes
shrug, just elevator.

From Cottonwood we drove to Glen
Canyon. Crossing the dam, an array of cliffs

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behind, “You’s hawlin ass, you little circum- of laughter dried, she kissed each eye and I
fiction, let’s paddle round the big-ass rock ran my hand through her black crew cut and
then.” over her little, round, suntanned face.

We circled round the big-ass Lone Rock “I grub you Bub.”
and into a cove that led to a series of com-
plicated structures: long finger inlets, the “I grubs you too Babe.”
rock faces with strangely rounded humps
covered in holes, caves with layers of ledges, The next day, with Bailey, jackets, fishing
and slopes with ridges like ripples in sand. gear and cooler, we raced full throttle in a
Finally, as blisters developed on our fingers, rented powerboat out across the bay and
we returned across the bay. towards the dam. Linda’s eyes shone with
the love of water and speed, the remnants
“Fuck, I’m tired.” of Glen Canyon towering above.

“Me too,” I replied, and put my arm She smiled and said slowly, “Fuuck.”
round Linda. “Let’s go home and eat.”
I thought briefly and said, “Why fuck?”
That evening, arm in arm, we sat looking
out over the water. I told her about about “Is good fuck,” she laughed. “You s’cute.”
working in Nigeria on agricultural pests. “It
was a lot of fun because the Nigerians love We slowed in the narrows of Antelope
to joke, but I found out what it’s like to be a Canyon. Linda had the fishing poles, hooks,
minority person. There were very few white plastic worms, lures, flies, plastic jerk baits,
people where we worked.” and most important, frozen anchovies. Ig-
noring me, who, with a total ignorance of
Linda described some of the terrible ac- fishing, felt that real bait was needed, she
cidents she had photographed in Dallas.“I left the anchovies untouched all morning.
didn’t work for anyone, I was always free-
lance. You shoulda seen them. Julie, so par- “You know this was an amazing hydro-
ticular her shit didn’t stink, dumpster-diving electric project after the flooding of Glen
Paul, sexy Harley Bitch with her motorbike. Canyon.”
Sharon was a blow-jobby type.”
“Can’t be symposius when I’m trying to
After freezing and burnin up in turn, fish, Babe.” Then, at last, “Let’s try them al-
Linda settled to play poker on her iPad and batross Babe.”
I began reading Travelers’ Tales: Grand
Canyon, an anthology of essays by authors While she worked one pole with lures,
who love the place. But it wasn’t long be- she attached an anchovy to the other and
fore we were ready for bed. Linda held me left it against the stern. Bailey and I lay idly
close. on the floor of the boat.

“Your eyes are like turds floating in a “Shit, Babe, look at that albatross pole.”
liquid cesspool,” she crooned, and we fell It was bending at the tip and she dropped
over laughing on the bed. Linda was fasci- the other pole, grabbed the busy one, took
nated by my eyes, which are yellowish green in the slack, yanked it skywards and reeled
with brown spots. “Gotta get me a picture it in.
a them eyeballs.” This night, when the tears
“Shit, I got one! Oh, Babe, loook! Son of
a bitch, look at ‘er. Get the net, hurry.”

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Two feet of fighting silver dangled above there, with a love that often astounded.
the glittering water, and I rushed to get the She chuckled that one of the stories I would
net and secure the fish. write was to be about her.

“Sons of bitches, without that net we’d a “I sit with the stenographer and she
lost ‘er, see how the hook is nearly through write down all my symposium.”
‘er lip? Look at ‘er Babe, look at the lovely
striper, it’s made my day! what a birthday! Later that morning, she was out of sorts.
Thank you Babe. Quick, take my picture “We should’ve went to Zion.”
with ‘er. I so happy Babe. I love that sucker.
Now for another striper, Babe.” With some impatience at her need for
new places I said, “Maybe I need some time
I watched in admiration until her excite- alone.”
ment abated, then peeled an orange as I lay
back dreaming. I wore a long-sleeved shirt “You have no symphony for me. Usually
and wide brimmed hat, and not wanting to you so gratuitous and grateful with your
interrupt Linda I talked instead to Bailey: time and I always in your despair.”
“How’s my Bailey-boo? You my big baby?
Come on you wussy puppy.” I looked at her and smiled tenderly. Mol-
lified, Linda set up the tripod and sat with a
“Hey Bub, you want some orange?” little more patience than usual for the great
bird photo.
“No orange, Babe, that’s how I keep my
body swelft.” It didn’t take long to see something.

I laughed, as I thought of Linda’s passion “Look Babe, quick, come ‘ere.”
for chocolate.
“What?”
Later, Linda cleaned the fish at a special
fish-cleaning station but left the cooking to “Can’t you see that sucker?”
me. “You gotta do southern-style.” I dipped
the filets in cornmeal and deep fried them. “Where?” So quick to see the birds, she
had spotted a little mountain chickadee that
Lake Powell had been wonderful. I had I had missed.
enjoyed Linda’s love of water, boats and
fishing, but was ready for more of nature By midday we were ready to leave
and canyons, less of people and dams. Linda and see the great cities of towering rocks
did all the driving. She likes to be in charge at Bryce Canyon. I had never been and I
and the motor home was her domain, her walked gently to a canyon rim to look down
territory. For me it was relaxing to leave it all at all the hoodoos.
to her, things she was clearly good at.
“Come look at this tiny flower in the
At the Bryce Canyon campsite we sat family Asteraceae,” I beckoned.
among the ponderosa pines, watching
Clark’s nutcrackers foraging for dog food “Sons of bitches, you come over here,”
chips. Linda took her camera out as I sat Linda yelled, “Yous too near the edge.”
writing on my laptop, happy with the tem-
porary simplicity of life with an improbable I obeyed, and we embraced, enchanted
lover. Linda was happy for me to just be with the rock and mountains, sun high-
lighting patches with gold, and shadows
enhancing the three dimensions.

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As we walked around back at the camp- We held each other, and I gave up on
site, we passed the camp host. Linda saw my magazine, no longer caring about Han-
the Texas license plate. “Hi, where y’all from del’s biography. The laughter was a carefree
in Texas?” she asked of a big bearded guy. comfort that quickly turned to a passionate
“Used to fish at Galveston. Yeah, all along embrace.
the coast. Any good fishing round here?”
The next day we explored the rocky
“Oh, sure, there’s a good lake up the scenes in earnest. My preference was, as
road north a here. Go over the crossroads always, for the sights and sounds of nature
and you’ll find Pine Lake. Rainbows and and a walk for a few miles at least, but Linda
browns there, easy. Great place, nobody up cared little for long walks.
there and you’ll see plenty a deer and elk.
Get the paste bait at Ruby’s.” “Such pain in my laygs. My knees are
killing me.”
“What’s the limit?”
Later, in bed early, I started a new book.
“Four of each.”
“What’s that book then?” Linda asked.
So we planned on Pine Lake next day as
we ate barbecued steak. Suddenly Linda “It’s the book of essays, nature stuff and
coughed violently and I rushed to pat her travel sort of thing.”
on the back.
“Well read some to me, I’m tired and
“Is okay, got caught on my hangy down that’ll put me to sleep.”
guy. You just woofing it down aren’t cha?”
I looked for some passage that could
She always needed dessert to follow: be read out of context and still have some
sticky coffee cake, Hershey’s chocolate meaning, and began in the middle of “Gone
kisses filled with peanut butter, or shock- Back to Earth” by Barry Lopez:
ing-pink and lime-green cupcakes. The plain
chocolate we brought would have to do. We re-board three large rubber rafts,
and enter the Colorado’s quick, high flow.
Suddenly Yoyokitty began climbing on The river has not been this high or fast since
the screen door and hanging onto to the Glen Canyon dam. Jumping out ahead of us,
wire. with its single oarsman and three passen-
gers, is our fourth craft…
“Bub, she is having trouble disengaging
her claws,” I called. Interrupted by loud laughter, I looked at
Linda rolling in the bed with her legs kicking.
“Disengaging,” Linda shrieked, “Disen- “Craaaft, raaaft, you so fancy smancy, so
gaging! You little encyclonic, what’s wrong eengleeshy, so very queenie.”
with ‘getting her claws out?’”
And the laughter was irrepressible as
“Disengage,” she said again laughing, silly things will often be when two people
and kissed my forehead. are close, “Always you tease me,” I gasped.

“Oh Babe, you want to make a grapht “Yes, I a-teasa you, I teasa you, you little
out of it? A spreadsheet? You always with contigenera, you doctor doctor.” And she
pearls of wisdom on your oyster tongue.” grabbed me into her arms. Whether it was
the reading, the exhaustion of so much

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laughing, or just simple weariness, she fell new greens quivering among the white,
quickly asleep, allowing me to finish the black-lined trunks.
essay and ponder Lopez’s final thoughts in
relation to the splendid scenes we had wit- “Get me some chocolate,” Linda com-
nessed in recent days. manded.

The living of any life, my life, involves “You are incorrigible.”
great and private pain, much of which we
share with no one. In such places as the “Yes I always incognito. I need choco-
Inner Gorge, the pain trails away from us. late.”
It is not so quiet there, or so removed, that
you can hear yourself think, that you would As she drove I left the passenger seat
even want to; that comes later. You can hear for the kitchen cabinet and selected four
your heartbeat. That comes first. Hershey’s nuggets. I unwrapped them and
handed each to Linda who kept her eyes on
Pine Lake was surrounded by alpine the road. She smiled, “We might could go
meadows with high mountains beyond, and fishing somewhere tomorrow.”
Linda was quiet, concentrating on lures and
movement. In an hour she had four rainbow Next day, on our return to the camp
trout, and we headed home. from the cliffs and red rocks of the park,
there was a cluster fuck, as Linda described
“I’m freezing. Time to put on long pants.” it: headaches, booboos, and a grim seven-
ty-mile dash to a vet for antibiotics for a sick
Then, “Oh, my thumb so sore where that Bailey. Storm clouds and lightning, dead elk
fishhook went in. Toxins vacillated into my on the road, speeding on narrow country
cubicles.” roads through sagebrush country and over
mountains, past lakes and through small
As we were leaving Bryce, Linda went towns. But the following day was calm, in
into hyper mode: “Look at them Dutch! a green valley under the great red cliffs of
Look, midgets —look at that girl’s shorts Capitol Reef National Park. Golden eagles
tucked into her fat butt crack! Need twee- glided high and Linda now a birder in ear-
zers to pull them out! Look, old fuckers, nest, became excited. It was to be her first
look at that Mexican, there’s a raven. Look, day of making lists.
bunny! There’s a Texas license plate, look,
they got a Jesus thing by their motor home.” “Oh, my god those goldens, Babe!”
I couldn’t keep up with her long litany of
rapid observations, but I looked at Linda’s We sat among the cottonwoods, leaves
face full of fun, vision rushing ahead of her flashing silver in the breeze and fluffy falling
thoughts. cotton wafting through the air like summer
snow. Bullock’s orioles and Western tana-
The road meandered northeast along gers flashed their yellows in the branches,
byways of red cliff and boulders, white black and white hairy woodpeckers pecked
rock canyons dotted with the dark green the tree trunks, brown headed cowbirds
of pines, to Capitol Reef National Park. and bold American robins foraged in the
The motorhome struggled up hills, and at grass, and an occasional chukka partridge
the high pass over Boulder Mountain we marched across our sights. We idly watched
stopped to walk among aspens dressed in summer and ate apple pah. There we
were, a sixty-five-year old academic and a

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fifty-one-year old Texas dropout; Austra- storms went it wasn’t much, so I held her as
lian egghead and fast-brained, street-smart memories of research in the Sahara Desert ran
photographer with short attention span. before my eyes, and my so-different life swept
The one work-weary and disciplined, the back from the corners of consciousness. It felt
other a free spirit. But we had love, and it good to stop holding on to the professor’s hat
was gentle that soft summer day. and simply feel the bittersweet of nostalgia as
I savored this new life and love.
“I’m an adult toddler,” Linda announced.
“Talk to me Babe.” Linda pleaded.
“And I am a toddling adult,” I replied.
How could I explain my complex emo-
We went northeast to the town of Green tions? I said simply, “I love you.”
River, through yet more canyons red and
white, and mountains yellow and grey, to The road south from Moab became
camp on the Colorado River in Moab. It was flatter with occasional statues of red, the
a shady site with wireless Internet, good for last remnants of strata not yet weathered
using computers outside. away. Sagebrush took the place of juniper
and pinyon pine until, finally, the red earth
“Fuck I got a bug on my computer screen! was barren. We kept our eyes ready for dark
What is it?” silhouettes of ravens in the sky.

“Oh, just a chironomid fly,” I replied. Back in Arizona we climbed into the
White Mountains and ended up at Fool’s
“Yeah yeah, I hate chrysanthemums on Hollow Lake Recreation Area, with piney
my screen.” smells and west wind. Above the lake os-
preys soared and Linda got her prize photo.
I settled down to write, but it was not Here we relaxed with the memories of our
easy to concentrate with Linda. three-week trip.

“What chew got there, bucko?” In bed, Linda had her iPad for a game of
Poker and had a new book, Aldo Leopold’s
“Just revising stuff and adding some an- A Sand County Almanac.
ecdotes; nothing much, Bub.”
Then, lights out, skin on skin. The com-
“OK, you put in some antidotes? You just fort of being held with love before sleep
writing for your bemusement, eh?” carries one to another world that recedes
again with a morning embrace.
“Hmm.”
I got up early. I looked from the picnic
“You talkative little chipmunk,” she table, through pines and junipers with their
chided. I knew she would have liked more long, early-morning shadows, to a blue lake
chitchat, but was happy to take her pro- and a rocky bank beyond. I was relaxed after
fessor doctor for the quiet person I was. three weeks travel in Utah in the old, Class
C motorhome. Retired, future uncharted, I
“Well, adiose amoebas,” she called, as was learning to feel free, to give up ties to
she went off to shower, “Seeya, wouldn’t the academic life and write my story.
want ta beeya.”

Later we lay in bed in each other’s arms
as a dust storm raged outside.

“Holy fuck, sons of bitches,” Linda said. It
wasn’t the time for me to respond that as dust

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Linda, grudgingly awake, appeared at shorts, waited for birds to photograph. She
the door and waited for that first grouchy moved my chair into the shade at intervals
greeting. and tried not to talk as I wrote. I knew I
looked like the pale academic I had been for
“Babe, your patience has been eviden- forty years, as I mused on the past weeks of
tiary but I wondered if we should have went travel through canyon lands, and how love
to Colorada.” had prospered in spite of our being total
opposites, how humor had proved such a
“Bub, this is our holiday, or as you would brilliant counterbalance to what seemed a
say, vacation, and Utah has been splendid.” mismatch to many—how laughter had en-
riched our embraces!
She smiled, and seemed happy with
that. I cooked the eggs then spread English Next day, when we set off for home,
Marmite on a slice of bread, making Linda Linda said, “Sad.”
smile finally,
“Why sad?”
“Still eating marmoset, eh, Babe?”
“Because coming to an end.”
Then, “Is that cool or what,” as a black-
headed grosbeak landed nearby, and Lin- But I was not sad. It had been good,
da’s newfound birding spirit soared. I felt a thinking only of the uncomplicated present,
strange melting whenever her bird-delight and the weeks would become embedded
took wing. in memory, among the stores of sweet nos-
talgia. I thought of all the close partnerships
“Bublet, I love you.” I had observed through my life, and one
factor stood out in the best ones—an ability
“I love you too, Babe.” to laugh at everything and everybody, but
especially at each other and one’s self.
We lazed through the morning. Linda,
tanned, young-looking and so boyish in

About the Author

Elizabeth Bernays grew up in Australia, became a British Government Scientist in London,
and then a Professor of Entomology at the University of California Berkeley. From there she
was appointed Regents’ Professor at the University of Arizona where she also obtained an
MFA in Creative Writing. She has published forty nonfiction stories in literary magazines and
last year, her memoir, “Six Legs Walking,” won the 2020 Arizona/New Mexico Book Award
for memoir.

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POETRY



THE LAKE

by Nardine Sanderson

Roses bloom in darkness too.

Loves rose grew from her lips to speak of loss and courage
through what leaves the body but never dies
She had his heart, clung to his soul
As the salty tears of sorrow never dries
Form the love and it lives
Give love the power and it grows,
strengthened enough to sprout each word, in a language only the heart it knows
For touch may part, but longing stay
In the values of love on wings away
But furtherent adhere to the moment
Love United one’s breaths to breathe
Before such death would have him Leave
In a grievance become a rose untouched
In the vices of the hearts as much
For love it Kindle the burning flame
divine and sacred where we claim
To dwell as if we ever knew,
Roses bloom in darkness too.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

In a universe caressed.

What seeks to weave those precious stars, the night is young and fully lit
Below the canopy of trees I sit

In lite shadows of the arriving moon

For love may cast its promiscuous ways
On my brow with lightened days, but rest in peaceful smiles the eve

With formidable challenges not to grieve

Come by on breezes thoroughly strong
In some strange reason and in song

To bring the heart sweet lulling tunes
For he in a dreams awaits there soon

How does love survive the test, in a universe caressed, by the willing heart
Confined to hold, in its silver light of stars, a burning sun of gold

For many reasons such be true, that every star that follows through
In a blanket of darkness find each flicker of light, lays down in shadows
yet to fight

Forever seems a destined hand, and all but falling loving sand, may calculate a love that’s bearing

In the atmosphere that we are sharing

To love with heart the stars that shine
And bless the moon it’s great divine
But come the light of days bright sun
And cherish love where so begun.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

I hold what love there made.

In my deepest depths of thought, you sprout like a vine that’s
grown in light , I could have bread the seasons darker
But I’ve known that to be a fight

To embrace my empathic surges
In my veins some victory, that you may become a garden lively that willing all can see,

For what of roses in the spring , so presently grace the light of skies
And blue comes rushing prominent
In the contours of your eyes

To value most the new coming days
And countless stars in nights charade
There within the loving hands
I hold what love there made

To all new promise that love and dreams may catch the fall Of starlight brave
And hold what’s in my heart so longing
In times before the grave

For such seasons change and go
To be a master of the light they’d stay
And I with a tender hand would hold them anyway,

For beauty is a pleasure cast before the eyes may close in times of sleep
And some they say that dreams they weave, and hold the heart so deep

A pleasure is this morning light
And there in evenings gentle moon
A love that brings the garden home
And moves the heart to swoon.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine
For all the love he had inside.

I’d have no choice but to dwell in sorrow To be of courage for in love the more
If by day had come the morrow And take my breaths down to the shore
A sleeping tide, where seas no more In silence watch the ever glades
Crashed the aching of my shore In lights sweet willing vibrant shades

In loves avoidance come by wing Of loss and aching time pursued
And never sort the heart to sing Nothing but such love is viewed
But lay in a whithered roses bed
Where a million starlight filled my head To be a horizon I barely known
But graced the landing of each step
To rest in knowing thoughts alone Where all the angels lept to fall
With Nothing but such love to atone
In a resistant likened pose In loves sweet daunting dreams and all
But bare the imprint of loves content
To be a place of peace means hope With written language of what it meant
But love as absence never sort
All the ways the tide has brought To be of partial days and night
Before he closed his eyes To sight
Values to a place I’ve found
Once you’ve come to resting ground Beginning a journey nill of breath
A silver tear and moon resides And leaving me so lonely in death
Love forever, never died
For I shall love and dwell in him
But lives full fashion in me now The weight of waters always swim
And never leave the soul or side But loath the seas where he had cried
Though touch would cease For all the love he had inside.
The heart still longs
And in my arms where he belongs

The night would bow and courage form
Below the tides as if reborn
Into the light of heavens waves
In death to body so still craves

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