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Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent international monthly publication, based in New York and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and established authors reach a wider literary audience.

A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação mensal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Adelaide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas literárias, escritas em inglês e português. Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudando os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiência literária mais vasta. (http://adelaidemagazine.org)

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Published by ADELAIDE BOOKS, 2021-01-12 16:55:14

Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 43, December 2020

Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent international monthly publication, based in New York and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and established authors reach a wider literary audience.

A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação mensal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Adelaide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas literárias, escritas em inglês e português. Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudando os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiência literária mais vasta. (http://adelaidemagazine.org)

Keywords: fiction,nonfiction,poetry

HAPPY NEW YEAR

INDEPENDENT REVISTA
MONTHLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINE
MENSAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Independent Monthly Literary Magazine
Revista Literária Independente Mensal EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Year VI, Number 43, December 2020 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano VI, Número 43, dezembro 2020
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1-954351-31-8
MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent Adelaide Franco Nikolic
inter-national monthly publication, based in New
York and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is Adelaide Books LLC, New York
to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork,
and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. We
seek to publish outstanding literary fiction, nonfic-tion, Aren Bergstrom, Scott Jessop,
and poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, Jared Carlson, Darren Deth,
helping both new, emerging, and established authors
reach a wider literary audience. Elias Andreopoulos, Edward Mack,
Elizabeth Gauffreau, Gosia Nealon,
A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação
men-sal internacional e independente, localizada em Stephen Moore, Melissa Chen,
Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic Dean Jollay, R.W. Watkins, Michael Emeka,
e Ade-laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da Davis Wetherell, Ellis Shuman, Brian Feller,
revista é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e
fotografia de qualidade assim como entrevistas, Amanda E.K., Brian Quinn, Alan Swyer,
artigos e críticas literárias, escritas em inglês e por- Jacqueline March, Madison Foreman,
tuguês. Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e
poesia excepcionais assim como promover os Pamela Cottam, Aymon Langlois,
escritores que publicamos, ajudan-do os autores novos Michael Tyler, Ashley Nicholson, Wes Blake,
e emergentes a atingir uma audiên-cia literária mais
vasta. Jennifer Hildebrandt, Martta Kelly,
Jeffrey Loeb, Sara Garland, Louis Gallo,
(http: //adelaidemagazine.org) Adela Brito, John Grey, Ambrose Gibbs,
A.J. Ortega, Sher Ting Chim, Larissa Peters,
Published by: Adelaide Books, New York Doug Bolling, Mac Campbell, Lisa Chow,
244 Fifth Avenue, Suite D27 Lyn Coffin, Johnny Bell, Claudia Piepenburg,
New York NY, 10001
e-mail: [email protected] Mukund Gnanadesikan
phone: (917) 477 8984
http: //adelaidebooks.org

Copyright © 2020 by Adelaide Literary Magazine

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

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS ACTING OUT
by Brian Quinn 126
FICTION PALIMONY
by Alan Swyer 136
ZIGARETTENSTUMEL IF ONLY
by Aren Bergstrom 7 by Jacqueline March 143
COLD COFFEE
DINNER AT JOHNNY CAMP by Madison Foreman 145
by Scott Jessop 16 JUST DESSERTS
by Pamela Cottam 148
THE RIVER STANDING FOR LAUREN
by Jared Carlson 18 by Aymon Langlois 157
THE BARBARIANS
TO JUMP by Michael Tyler 159
by Darren Deth 27 THE LET DOWN
by Ashley Nicholson 164
RESPECT THE CLEANERS
by Elias Andreopoulos 32 NONFICTION
SHEPARD’S HAUNT
GHOSTS OF THE REPUBLIC by Wes Blake 169
by Edward Mack 39 SLOWLY SLIDING
by Jennifer Hildebrandt 177
SIREN SONG A CANDLE FOR FLORENCE
by Elizabeth Gauffreau 45 by Martta Kelly 180
STACI
ALICE IN MONTAUK by Jeffrey Loeb 183
by Gosia Nealon 54 HONORABLE MENTION
by Sara Garland 191
SO SORRY I MISSED YOUR CALL FIFTH COLUMN
by Stephen Moore 63 by Louis Gallo 194
ALL ALONE OFFLINE:
BRICK SNOW INTERNET DEPRIVATION WITHDRAWAL
by Melissa Chen 71 By Lisa Chow 203

KATHLEEN AND DENISE 3
by Dean Jollay 74

THE HILLS HAVE…
by R.W. Watkins 84

LOST
by Michael Emeka 92

THE COST OF THE WATCH
by Davis Wetherell 100

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
by Ellis Shuman 105

STORIES FROM PAPA
by Brian Feller 111

DEVOTION
by Amanda E.K. 119

Adelaide Literary Magazine

POETRY INTERVIEWS
90 MILES
by Adela Brito 215 LYN COFFIN
IN THE YEAR OF HITCHHIKERS Author of AFTERMATH 239
by John Grey 218
THE MOMENT OF THUNDER JOHNNY BELL
by Ambrose Gibbs 221 Author of THE DIRT COURT 245

THE PRICE OF LIVING CLAUDIA PIEPENBURG
by Sher Ting Chim 227 Author of LETTING GO 249

INHALE TO GODDESS MUKUND GNANADESIKAN
by Larissa Peters 230 Author of ERRORS OF OMISSION 254
VARIATIONS
by Doug Bolling 232
CODA
by Mac Campbell 235

4

FICTION



ZIGARETTENSTUMEL

by Aren Bergstrom

Oskar liked the smell of tobacco on his his way to school or voices who’d murmur
hands. It reminded him of his grandfather, their prayers beside him in the Evangelische
how he used to take a tuft of chewing to- Kirche on Sunday morning. He did not like
bacco, wedge it between his lower lip and thinking of where their owners were. Or
teeth, and rustle Oskar’s hair if he caught worse, how the items were now nothing
him watching, transferring the leafy smell more than trash when there were no folks
to the boy’s head. It was comfort, like soft left to claim them, protect them, rebuild.
rain on glass and the smell of red cabbage And yet, for all the discomfort, Oskar could
in the pot, the vinegar newly-added and still shut all that away in the back of his
perfuming the air. mind. The mental remove of a young man
can be remarkable and terrifying at times
These memories helped him bear the and, furthermore, there was a job to do. He
discomfort of the work. As he picked had the zigarettenstummel to find and sell
through the rubble in the streets, finding to the Americans who would pay him hand-
stray zigarettenstummel scattered across somely for his services.
the ashen ground, he’d come across sights
and smells more unpleasant than stale to- Or pay him at least. There was not much
bacco. There was the occasional blood, but money to go around, but the Americans had
Oskar could be stoical about that. He was what little of it there was and they were not
fourteen. He had seen blood before—on frugal with it when it came to things they
the farm; on his uncle’s hands (God rest his wanted, like a good stein of brew or a pretty
soul) when he had freshly slaughtered a pig; woman or the loose tobacco and papers
and on his own hands and clothes when he that could be found in the streets of the
had caught himself in the wire surrounding town. The Americans would pay for their
Old Georg Hoffman’s red barn. He could pleasure. Oskar did not know the German
put blood in its place and ignore it. It were money was worthless to the Americans,
the other objects that lingered in his mind that they had no desire to keep it and only
and made his stomach turn two knots past wanted to head home and forget the land
comfortable. He’d see the torched dolls, the of the Krauts, which had stolen so many of
broken plates, the little scraps of paper from their friends and wasted their youth.
schoolbooks and photographs, and he’d
shudder. He knew their former owners, old Oskar knew little of this when he would
faces that’d stare in the street as he made bring what findings he could to the tall,
brown haired man with the lines on his

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forehead and the gap in between his two under his breath. Even Oskar could under-
front teeth. He had the three bars on his stand the meaning of the gesture.
shoulder, which Oskar believed made him
a sergeant, but he was not sure whether “Yes, sir,” Oskar said once he was near the
the Americans did things the same as his sergeant. He unfolded his tissue, revealing
own people. Regardless of his rank, Oskar the odds and ends of many zigarettes. He
knew he was in charge of the small coterie jostled them in his hands to prove the
of soldiers that hung around the tables of large amount, convincing the sergeant of
Rudolf’s Tavern off the main square. They’d their worth. “I have more of the zigaretten-
sit with their beer and laugh and stare after stummel for you. I found them in Herr Man-
the women who’d walk by in their long skirts del’s home near the schoolhouse. No one
and shawls, not minding the dust and dirt else thinks to look there. These here,” Oskar
and rips that covered the women’s clothes said, pointing out the three largest butts,
if they could get a glimpse of their calves. “have barely been used. They are good, yes?”

The Americans were not drinking beer “Not bad, kid,” the sergeant said, picking
when Oskar made his way to them this up the largest of the butts and feeling it in
time. They were drinking coffee and playing his hands. “How much are you thinking?”
a game that looked like damespiel, although
there were a few pieces missing and the “I don’t know,” Oskar said. “I have no in-
Americans were using a salt shaker and a tention of being greedy. I want what they’re
cork to replace the lost components. The worth.”
sergeant was not playing, instead watching
two of the others play, lending advice when “What they’re worth is something that
one or both of them made a play he dis- you suggest and I can agree upon,” the ser-
agreed with. He spotted Oskar come down geant said. “You have to learn how things
the lane, his tissue folded in his hands, in- work, kid, if you have any hope of making it
dicating the presence of the zigaretten- in this world. So, what is the price?”
stummel.
“Ten Reichspfennig? Is that alright?”
“You come bearing gifts, kid,” the ser-
geant said in his best German. His accent “Let’s make it one whole Reichsmark, why
was coarse and his words came slowly, but don’t we?” the sergeant said, reaching into
he knew the language, which was more than that jacket pocket for the coin. “That seems
most. The other Americans were helpless in more fair, doesn’t it?” He handed Oskar the
any language but their own. At most, they coin and collected the zigarettenstummel
would say “fraulien” to the pretty women from his handkerchief. “Don’t undersell
who passed their way and he had heard yourself, not in business. Not in life.” The
the small one with the beady eyes once yell sergeant looked over at the other Amer-
“schiesse” when he lost one of their many icans, who were paying him no attention.
games they played, but that was all. Even “Besides, these coins of yours are worthless.
now, one of the players raised his eyes and What good can you do with them, anyway?”
muttered something in his American lan-
guage, prompting his opponent to turn Oskar looked down at the coin in his
his head to spot Oskar and spit something hands and did not want to meet the ser-
geant’s eyes, as if to do so were to agree
that the coin was worthless, which would
shame himself and his family. He could only

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Revista Literária Adelaide

blurt out his thoughts in their superficial Reichsmark out of his pocket and placed it
manner, unrefined and unreflexive, like the into her palm. She retrieved it and put it into
thoughts of so many children. “My mother the pocket of her apron without looking it
still wants them,” he said. “She says that she over. “Katze holding your tongue?”
can use all she can get.”
“More of the zigarettenstummel.”
“Well then, take that back to your mother
and be a good son,” the sergeant said. “Now “Ach.” His mother’s scrubbing sped up,
get going. Our transaction is complete. vigorously scraping the shirt against the
washboard. “Wash your hands. I don’t want
Oskar nodded and started to walk away, the linens getting the smell of the scraps on
but paused and turned back to mutter them.”
“Thank you,” before continuing on. And then
another pause, and he said, “Sir,” as if the “Yes, mother.” Oskar turned to leave.
American sergeant was owed respect, even
though he was their enemy. Or had been “It was the Americans again?”
their enemy, at least. The distinctions were
hard to parse. Oskar did not have a mind “Yes,” Oskar barely muttered.
for things past the horizon at the edge of
town and out of the purvey of boy’s games “What was that? I could not hear you
and worries involving parents and girls and with your back turned to your poor mother.”
whether school could be avoided.
Oskar turned to her, but he could not
He rushed home, not wanting to live in bring his face to meet hers. His hands held
the discomfort that the transaction with the stiffly at his sides, replicating the look of a
sergeant left him with. When he entered child much younger than himself, the shame
the home, his mother was in the kitchen borne out in every limb of his awkward
with his younger sister, scrubbing down the frame. “Yes, the Americans bought them.”
clothes Oskar and his younger brother had
left in the laundry basket in the morning. He “I do not like this,” his mother said. She
looked at the portrait of his father that hung turned the shirt over and slapped it back
along the stairway and bowed his head in down against the washboard. “Your father
reverence to it before entering the kitchen. would be ashamed.”

His mother looked up, her watery blue “Father is not here,” Oskar said.
eyes taking in her son and striking him to
the core with her distinct look of disap- “Do not say such a thing.” His mother
proval. Her lips usually curled in a perpetual stopped scrubbing and stared at her son,
snarl when she wasn’t talking, which wasn’t heartstruck. The silence overwhelmed him,
often. In the snarl’s absence, it was more the discomfort seeping into the depths of
than amply compensated for by her cutting his loins and down into his thighs. “He will
words and refrains of misery. return home soon. I am sure of that.”

“What was it this time?” she said, holding Neither Oskar nor his mother liked to
out her hand. Oskar approached with ginger address his father’s absence. The fact that
steps, scared the hand would clasp him like he disappeared in Frankfurt over a month
a trap were he to rush to it. He pulled the before and they had not had even a letter
from him since then left them in a state of
unknown misery. On the occasions they did
speak of him, Oskar’s mother would men-
tion that he was not in the army and was

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

not a target for the Americans and British, Oskar looked around, hoping a com-
as if that would protect him from the bombs panion would answer the question for him.
and bullets that had killed countless others As no one was there to supply Oskar with
who wore no uniform. words, he simply shrugged his shoulders. “I
took the day off.”
“Yes, mother.” Oskar turned again and
left the room and his mother did not stop The sergeant barked out a laugh and
him, still struck to silence by the memory stepped forward to pat Oskar on the
of his father. shoulder. Oskar startled at the movement
before realizing the sergeant meant no
Dinner was quiet that evening and Oskar harm. “You’re bold to take a day off in this
spent the next day avoiding the family economy.” He looked around at the alley
home and wandering the streets of the with the ruined home at the end, its stones
town with his friends. As the sun reached broken apart by artillery, and back at Oskar.
its peak and started to descend, Oskar was “Are you bold, son?”
in the market, alone, his friends having
deserted him. He kicked at a loose cobble- “I don’t know, sir.”
stone and it tumbled down the lane. Oskar
followed its journey with his eyes, watching “That’s not a bold answer.” Another
as it slammed into the wall of a home at booming laugh from the sergeant, the wit
the bottom of the lane, startling the man of his words forcing the air from his lungs
who had just turned the corner. Oskar saw in joviality.
it was the American sergeant. He turned to
flee, but it was too late. The sergeant had “No, I guess not.” Oskar didn’t find the
spotted him. sergeant’s words funny, but he knew he was
being made fun of and didn’t want to open
“Boy...come here.” The sergeant had himself up to further belittlement.
been drinking and his words slurred. Oskar
hesitated as he did not like the unpredict- “What you need is a girl to make you bold
ability of drunkards. His uncle was known and strong. Someone to impress. You have
to drink too much beer and schnapps in a girl?”
the evenings and pound the table in anger.
Oskar often worried that some day his own “Not yet.”
head would fill the space between table
and hand during a drunken fit. “I said come “‘Not yet’—I like that. An admission of
here, goddammit.” The last word slipped things as they are and a declaration of how
out in English, but Oskar understood the you want things to be. That’s a little more
meaning of it. He walked over to where the bold, son.”
sergeant leaned against the wall. The ser-
geant caught his breath, stood straight, and Oskar smiled and the sergeant reached
looked the boy up and down. into his pocket and pulled out a worn
package of zigarettes. Inside the children of
“You have wares to sell?” Oskar’s zigarettenstummel jostled around
as the sergeant dug for a solitary smoke.
“No, sir.” He saw Oskar watching him and held the
package in Oskar’s direction so he could get
“Why not?” a better look at them.

“Your handiwork.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“Yes, I see.” “You do not follow my train of thought,
do you?”
He grabbed the prize smoke and lit it.
After exhaling the first plume, he held the “I think I do...”
package out for Oskar. “Care to sample your
wares?” “But you have never done it yourself?”

Oskar did not hesitate in taking one of “No, sir.”
the sergeant’s reconstituted zigarettes and
putting it in his mouth. The sergeant lit the Oskar stared at his shoes as the sergeant
zigarette for him and smiled as Oskar took examined his face.
a deep drag. The smoke filled his lungs and
burned his throat and he coughed heartily. “Would you like to?”
The sergeant smiled and patted Oskar on
the back as he coughed. “Atta boy. Get a Oskar looked up, thinking: “Are you
taste for it.” joking?”

Oskar regained control and put the ziga- “Do you want to be a man?”
rette back in his mouth, but was hesitant to
do more than puff at it. The sergeant con- Oskar looked over his shoulder again
tinued: and the sergeant caught his movement.

“You have a girl you fancy?” “What are you looking over your shoulder
for? Looking for someone to answer in your
“Yes, she is from school.” stead?”

“What’s her name?” “No, I...”

“Ilsa.” “What?”

“How German.” The sergeant chuckled to “I do want to be a man.”
himself. “What does Ilsa look like?”
It was true. Oskar felt the urges. They
“She...she has blonde hair. And freckles.” came to him when he stared at the girls in
school too long or found his mind rushing
“She have big tits?” The sergeant said, into ecstatic visions in the minutes before
chuckling as he watched Oskar blush. Oskar sleep. He was beginning to feel his body
shrunk into himself and gave a small nod. A react to it, to notice that his stomach would
hearty nod would be vulgarity. The sergeant tighten and his loins would swell and he’d
boomed another laugh. “Good on you. You feel almost sick and hungry for something
have got to choose the ones with some food couldn’t satisfy. In the absence of his
meat on their bones and curve in their hips. father, Oskar was the man of the house, and
That’s how you know they’re a real woman. although he could never phrase his thoughts
It means you’ll have more fun with them.” in such a manner, he had a growing belief
that the man of the house was deserved
Oskar nodded again, but it was uncon- some pleasures.
vincing.
He looked at the sergeant and saw the
“Do you know what I mean, son?” man’s vulgar grin and felt uncomfortable,
but he knew a promise was coming and did
Oskar didn’t want to lie about something not break eye contact with the promise’s
so serious so he said and did nothing. deliverer.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“I can see you do,” the sergeant said. recognize her face, but he gathered she was
He finished the zigarette and dropped it, in charge.
crushing it under his boot. Oskar did the
same. “I hope you had a big lunch because “You return so soon, sergeant,” the
you’ll need your energy.” woman said. “And with a young friend I see.
Although not a fellow soldier.”
The sergeant laughed and motioned for
Oskar to follow him down the street. They “My friend wants to become a man,” the
passed the market square and went past sergeant said as he slung his arms around
the church, where the cross haunted the Oskar’s shoulders.
periphery of Oskar’s vision. He kept his head
down as they passed by Rudolph’s Tavern “Then he has come to the right place.
and the remnants of the school and by his Does he have the money to pay—”
friend Toby’s house, which sported a bell
hanging from the second-storey window, “It’s my treat tonight,” the sergeant said.
as if it were the town hall. They crossed
through a patch of rubble that hadn’t been “I see. You are a generous man, sergeant,”
cleared and reached the dark, winding the woman said. “We are glad to know you.
streets of the town’s outer edge. The ser- And I’m sure he’s glad too.”
geant slowed his pace and Oskar looked up,
seeing the house they were aiming for, with The woman smiled at Oskar and he could
its distinctive warm glow from the inside see that her teeth were rotten, dispelling the
and bright, red door. illusion of her beauty created by her great
bosom. The feeling in his stomach was fading,
Oskar knew the house. The boys at replaced by a general anxiety at being in an
school would whisper about it and he had unfamiliar place with unknown people. But
caught his mother and father discuss it one he could not flee. That would be rude. And
time, unaware that he was within earshot. furthermore, he was curious about what
The house was a shame on the town and awaited him if he could only calm down and
a disgrace to all that was good and Chris- receive what the sergeant was to give him.
tian and German, but that did not stop men
from purchasing its wares each night. “Does he have a preference?” the woman
asked.
The sergeant didn’t hesitate at the door,
pushing it open and ushering Oskar inside. “Best not trouble his mind with such
Oskar wished he had been able to collect heavy burdens this evening,” the sergeant
himself before entering, but the sergeant said, letting go of Oskar’s shoulder and
was not a patient man. He was left to adjust moving closer to the woman. “I thought
to the glow from the fireplace and the can- that new girl would do him right. He men-
dlelight above the bar and the slow, steady tioned he fancied freckles and she has
music coming from the player piano in the plenty to spare.”
corner. An older woman walked forward
to greet the sergeant and he smiled at the The woman smiled and nodded and she
sight of her and her low-cut blouse, which reached out her hand to Oskar.
revealed the tops of enormous breasts,
barely contained by fabric. Oskar didn’t “Go on, boy,” the sergeant said. “I’ll be
waiting for you to thank me later.”

Oskar stepped forward and took the
older woman’s hand and followed her up
the stairs and down the narrow hallway to

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Revista Literária Adelaide

an empty room with a bed and a candle The words were a formality meant
and the curtains drawn across the window. to soothe nervous johns but she wasn’t
She let go of his hand and told him to sit on feigning the emotion behind each word. He
the bed and asked him if he had any ques- finally looked up at her and saw the vivid
tions. Oskar told her no and she looked at blue of her eyes and steeled himself against
him with a naked sympathy that wasn’t the impending realization. But it did not
common in her place of business. come. She smiled and moved her hand to
his thigh and started stroking it and he real-
“Do you know how to....” She grew quiet ized that she did not recognize him.
and for a moment Oskar could see the co-
quettish young woman she once must have He kept watching her face as she undid
been. He shook his head and told her he her blouse and revealed her curves to him,
would be fine and she retreated from the not even blushing at his intent stares. As she
room. Oskar was not lying. He had never unbuttoned his trousers and positioned him
seen the act himself, but he knew the spe- on the bed and came astride him, he kept
cifics of it from the many obsessive conver- staring at her face, focusing on the freckles
sations he’d had with the boys at school. and recognizing how much they reminded
There were exaggerations in their com- him of Ilsa. In the dim light, he could almost
ments and brags about their personal con- mistake her for Ilsa, which made him swell
quests, but at the heart of all their talk, they with excitement. As she touched him and
knew the mechanics of the physical act. moved forward and pulled him inside her,
he realized that he only need soften his gaze
Before long, there was a knock on the to see the girl he fancied. It was almost as
door and a light voice in the hall and a young good as the real thing.
woman entered, no older than eighteen, in
the full bloom of her beauty. She had long *
blonde hair and many freckles and a figure
that made other girls jealous. It was over soon after it had started, but
there was no shame in the room. She
Oskar could not simply admire her cleaned up his mess and replaced her
beauty for he looked to the floor as she en- blouse and skirt and he did up his trousers
tered. He recognized her as Ilsa’s sister, Liesl, and watched her go about her tasks with an
although he was not sure they had ever automatic efficiency. She went to the door
spoken. He had seen her with Ilsa at church and turned back to him, smiling at him one
and after school in the market gathering last time before she ducked into the hallway.
groceries for the family. Oskar continued to
stare at his hands as he couldn’t bring him- Oskar was left alone in the room. He had
self to meet her gaze, lest she recognize him enjoyed the act, however short it was, but
and shame fill her eyes. he also felt anxious, as if he had missed a
key component of it all in the rush of things.
“Don’t be shy, dear,” Liesl said as she He looked to the door, half expecting Liesl to
closed the door behind her and came to him return for more, but one minute passed and
at the bed. She sat beside him and rested her then another and he realized that nothing
hand on his and he could feel the warmth of more would come of it. He was a man now,
her touch. “I know this can be frightening for and yet, there was little different from the
a first time, but you don’t have to be fright- minutes earlier, aside from the heat of his
ened. I am here to take care of you.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

groin and the liquid calm that filled his mind. and Oskar continued on his way home and
He got up and left the room, walking down when the sergeant was no longer a fixture
the hall and the stairs in something of a in the tavern or the square, the exact lines
daze, his mind still racing through what had of his forehead and gap of his teeth faded
happened. from Oskar’s mind.

In the main room, sprawled across an He continued with his life, collecting
armchair with a girl in his lap, the sergeant the zigarettenstummel in case another unit
spotted Oskar coming down the stairs and would enter the town and be in want of his
called out to him. “So soon, kid? Didn’t you wares. He did not speak of the night with
want seconds?” Liesl and the sergeant to his friends, nor did
he dwell on it much in the quiet minutes
Oskar didn’t respond. He had no desire before bedtime.
to stay in the filthy main room as now all his
eyes could see were the various stains of One day in the following weeks, he was
wine and beer and other liquids he rather in the square at the tail end of another of
not know the origins of across the carpet. his treasure hunts for scraps, which had
He looked at the sergeant and saw how become second nature to him and gave
drunk he was, with a broad smile across his structure to his day in the absence of school
face and deep-set eyes that saw the room and homework. He turned the corner into
through a haze. the schoolyard and looked up and saw Ilsa
bidding farewell to her friends and coming
The sergeant tried to stand up, forgetting down the lane in his direction. She looked
the girl was on his lap, but a woop from her up and spotted him and smiled, as Oskar
kept him seated as he attempted to get an knew that just as he had fancied her, she
answer out of Oskar. had always felt warmly towards him. She
made to say something, but Oskar did not
“Did she rob you of your voice?” he said. wait to hear what it was. He turned away
“Speak dammit! Or have you been struck from her and made for the next street. The
dumb?” blues of her eyes and the amber of her
freckles reminded him of Liesl and the ser-
“You wanted my thanks and now you geant’s booming laugh and the rotten tooth
have it. But I have to go home.” of the madam at the house and whatever
yearning remained in the pit of his stomach
And with that Oskar left the house a for Ilsa, a new discomfort outmatched it in
new-made man and the sergeant turned his number and intensity.
focus to his appetites. The dumbfounded
boy soon fell from his mind. He walked through the streets and fo-
cused on the dusty corners of the cobble-
* stones and soon enough, her face slipped
from his mind and the discomfort in his
The Americans left town the following week. stomach eased and he could go about his
Oskar saw the sergeant one last time in the day without an unwanted confusion damp-
market square as he and his unit were dis- ening his thoughts. He returned home and
cussing arrangements with the mayor. The shut himself in his room and filled his mind
sergeant noticed Oskar but he was in the with thoughts of new women who would
midst of his duties and Oskar did not inter-
rupt him. Their eyes met and they nodded

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Revista Literária Adelaide
bring the promise of pleasure without bur-
dening him with the discomfort of doubt
and hesitation. There were to be many
women to share his bed in the future who
would have the good sense to leave his
mind and feelings alone. As for Ilsa, she was
just a girl to him now. And he knew that he
was a man.

About the Author
Aren Bergstrom is a filmmaker, film critic, and travel writer. His short films, including the sci-
fi comedy, “QuanTom,” and the religious drama, “A Consecrated Life,” have played festivals
worldwide. He co-founded and regularly contributes to the film review website, 3 Brothers
Film. He lives in Toronto, Ontario.

15

DINNER AT
JOHNNY CAMP

by Scott Jessop

Fresh trout was a treat Johnny Daughtry A storm was blowing; those long winds
did not often enjoy. that come between snows and blow off the
mountains. As the wind whistled between
Dick Wootton was fishing up along the the door and the jamb, swirling coffee
South Platte when he stopped at the camp grounds and shaking their empty cups, the
and knocked on Johnny’s door. Johnny old men tucked their loose shoulders closer,
dragged his stiff left leg off the stool, where and their hands clutched their buckskins
he was darning a tear in a pair of wool trou- to their chests. Uncle Dick rose, wrapped a
sers, opened the door, and greeted the old calico around his big bent body, and a fell of
mountain man with a slap on the back. They buffalo over that and headed out into the
sat at a table hacked from a poplar tree that tempest. He wanted to make El Pueblo by
once grew nearby, and Johnny poured hot mid-day as he had business with the Mor-
coffee as black and thick as Tennessee mud. mons. Navigating the trail at night wouldn’t
White cotton puffs of hair hung from Dick’s be a problem. Dick and his mount knew the
scalp, his hands gripped the tin cup, and way blindfolded.
his lips slurped. His buckskins smelled like
sweat and mold and bisonmeat, but Johnny The fish were in an old bucket packed
enjoyed the company and the conversation. with chunks of river ice. Johnny split the
As the evening waned, the two old friends brooks, salted them, and fried them in
told lies about the days long past at Bent’s bacon grease he had been saving to make
Old Fort. Dick recounted a demented apo- soap.
logue that he once killed an entire herd of
buffalo with his ancient muzzleloader from It was a busy day. The war brought a
atop the west wall to rob the Kiowa of meat steady stream of militia, supply wagons,
for the winter. Johnny claimed to have dis- stagecoaches, and marauding bands of
covered El Dorado, but an Apache blood Confederates out of Mace’s Hole. With the
oath forced him to keep it a secret. They camp being the only source of sweet water
knitted yarns for hours, then Dick presented along the Trapper’s Trail between the fort
the gift of the fish. and Russellville, Johnny’s days were filled.

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At 63, it was more than an old man could pain crawled up his skin. It plunged again
handle. He thought about going back East into his abdomen, this time below his waist-
to Chicago, where he was born. band. The assailant yanked the dirk to his
belly and sawed through the rope cinch that
With the hour late, the rider outside held Johnny’s pants up – spilling his intes-
caught him by surprise. His first thought tines to the dirt.
was that the snow had come early, and Dick
had turned around, but Johnny heard the Johnny looked into the eyes of his mur-
whinny of a horse, and Dick only rode mules. derer and expired.
He supposed he could invite his late-night
visitor to share his meal then offer him a James Beckwourth, black bastard son of
bunk. It was his business, after all. a Virginia slaver – a writ of manumission in
his breast pocket – and his Crow wife be-
The bora grabbed the door, and the Col- hind with the packhorse, wandered through
orado dirt whipped his face and threw long the area after being rejected by the Chey-
stringy locks of thick salt hair over his back enne for having led Chivington to Sand
as Johnny wrapped a blanket beneath his Creek. They found Johnny in the snow and
chin and stepped into the night. The Shef- buried him on the ridge overlooking Foun-
field camp knife’s silver blade was caught by tain Valley. On New Year’s Day in 1865, the
the light of his lantern; it sliced deep into last of the mountain men gathered at his
his kidney before he could react. The knife grave for a final rendezvous.
felt strange as it was withdrawn, pulling on
his insides, and he caught his breath as the And a cold wind blew over Pikes Peak.

About the Author

Scott Jessop lives in Manitou Springs, Colorado where he is a corporate video and TV
commercial producer, author, poet, and spoken word performer. Jessop’s work has appeared
in more than a dozen publications including the Saturday Evening Post, The Red Earth Review,
Penduline Press, Jitter Press, Bewildering Stories, El Portal, and Weber-The Contemporary
West.

17

THE RIVER

by Jared Carlson

I looked at the small stack of old books lying quickly as I could I raised my bowl to my
on the counter and called out to my wife, mouth and drank it, cereal and all.
“Is this them?”
Mom turned an ear, sighed, and said to
“Yes, a couple are so old and worn that I me, “I can hear you slurping. Sounds like the
don’t think you could read them. I can’t see dog just came in.”
keeping any but, just in case…”
“Sorry,” I said, wiping my mouth with my
“Sure, I’ll take a look.” hand. “I, well, is it okay if I go out?”

I pulled the books over to the window “Isn’t it a bit early?”
so I could look at them in the sun. They
were old, a couple missing covers, others “Not much.”
with pages fading like a childhood memory
and smiling, I put each aside. All of them, She turned to face me and put a hand
until I came to the last. The cover was torn, on her hip, the spatula jutting out from her
damaged a long time ago, but I held it in my side like a fly swatter ready to wallop. She
hands and stared out the window. lowered her head and pursed her lips. I sat
still and waited. She sighed, “Fine, but don’t
I remembered being a boy and looking you get any more ideas on your manners
out another window and dropping my from the animals out there.”
spoon into my cereal. Drops of milk soaked
into my shorts and a wet flake landed on I smiled, put my bowl in the sink and
the back of my hand. darted outside to meet Dustin at the corner.
He gave me a quick smile and walked to-
My mother cupped her hand over the wards an old dirt path. The path was well
phone. “Thomas? You okay, honey?” worn, one of a set carved into the sloping
hillside, having been there longer than
“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Just as I brought my anyone knew. The brambles and thorns al-
hand to my mouth to eat the flake off the ways tried to take it back each spring and
back of it, I saw an arm wave from over the we spent the summer running by, kicking
bushes at the far end of the yard. My friend and beating them away. The slopes were
Dustin waved, wearing a sheepish grin. covered in a mix of maple and spruce trees,
spotted with evergreen pines that faded
I glanced at my mother who had her into the background during the summer.
back to me, hovering over the stovetop, Dustin, tanned with short dark hair, wore
talking on the phone with Mrs. Kearns. As

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a pair of faded white shorts a little too big foot turned on a rock and I stumbled, falling
for him and a gray t-shirt and old high top over, and we rolled away from the edge of
sneakers, laces untied and no socks. It was the embankment. Dustin let out a quick cry
summer and we’d just finished 7th grade. and cursed as he pried himself out from
under the canoe. His shirt had lifted up
“Yeah, I know I was early,” said Dustin. around his armpits. Purple smeared his skin
all the way from his waist, right above his
“S’okay, it’s not like I had a lot to do,” I said. shorts to his chest where it was darker, with
two deep red blotches, one just in front of
“Heh, yeah,” he said. “I wanted to get his armpit and the other under his heart.
out early.” I raised an eyebrow. He added.
“I did have an idea.” He smiled and patted “Dang,” I whispered. I’d said something
me on the shoulder, giving me a small push. last year, when he caught a black eye and
I reached out to push him back but he then maybe because I’d brought it up or
slipped away and ran ahead. I chased after maybe because he wanted to give it time
him, laughing and throwing small branches to heal I hadn’t seen him for a week.
while Dustin’s high tops kept falling off until
he finally picked them up and tucked them He caught me looking and forced a laugh.
under his arm like a football. “You’re such a klutz. Come on, let’s get this
in the water.”
Dustin’s yard was a small patchwork of
crabgrass, sand and lawn. The charcoal gray “Where you’d get it from? The canoe I
house was small, with paint peeling around mean.”
the windows and along the back porch. A
couple of empty glass bottles lay strewn “Grandparents,” he said. “When we visit,
across the porch, a few more piled in the I head out on the lake as often as I can.
corner. One of the bottles was half full with Grampa got it as part of a trade and said
a dark caramel colored liquid. he figured I’d get more use out of it. You’ve
ridden a canoe before, right?”
“You wait here,” Dustin said in a hush.
“I just gotta grab my pack.” He placed the “Yeah, a couple of times.”
high tops on the ground and snuck onto the
porch, pulling the screen door open with a We slipped the boat into the water.
soft creak that hung in the morning air. A Dustin took the rear to steer and I went to
half minute later he appeared with a ruck- the front. We flailed about as we learned
sack on his shoulder and slipped through to work the water together but it carried us
the door, catching it so it shut quietly. along nonetheless.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go.” The river had been small where we
started, maybe ten feet across, but it was
“Where to?” twice that by the time we found a rhythm.
Every now and then Dustin winced as he
“The river.” He took another path leading dug the oar into the river and once or twice
into a small clearing where there was a the boat rocked and he’d grunt, getting his
sleek red fiberglass canoe resting against a oar caught at an awkward angle. I’d stop
maple with two wooden oars inside. paddling to give him a quick rest, and look
out over the trees or close my eyes and
“Hey, Thomas,” he said as he picked up listen to the wind rustle the leaves. Clouds
one end. “Help me out, will ya?” I leaned
over and picked it up with one hand. My

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dotted blue skies with birds soaring over- squirmed until Dustin yelled, “Enough al-
head or perching by the river as we passed. ready! I don’t want to get my pack soaked.”
The forest was old here, with tall pines,
twisting maples, and strong red oaks on We made our way to a small island in the
either side, providing a home to squirrels, center where we pulled the canoe out of
birds, and other wildlife. the water and walked around. It wasn’t big,
as long as a football field and half as wide,
The sun crept higher and the river wid- with small trees and a single striped maple
ened and then once more, emptying out into marking the center. I walked to the maple
a small lake with a tiny island in the center. and kicked over a few branches and strips of
It was roughly oval and the far side had two bark. Underneath, I found a thin paperback
roads intersecting at the far edge with a few with a torn, spotted cover lying next to a
cars passing by and a sidewalk with a jogger couple of beer cans. I picked up the book, ‘A
and an old couple walking hand in hand. Separate Peace’, and thumbed through the
first few pages.
“Heh, I thought we might come out here,”
said Dustin. He put his hand to his forehead “What do you have there?” Dustin said.
to block out the sun and surveyed the pe-
rimeter. “A book. Want it?”

“Is this why you wanted to get an early He looked past me to the road. “Nah, no
start?” I said. thanks.”

“Yeah…” He smiled. “I was looking at the “It’s not like you to turn down a book. Re-
town maps in the library, you know the ones member last summer? The bet you couldn’t
hanging up by the reading rooms?” read a hundred books?”

I didn’t. “Heh,” said Dustin. “Easiest ten bucks I
ever made.”
“Well, I saw those streams all feed into
the river and come here. It goes on too. I’m “Come on, twenty of em’ were comic
not sure it ends. It just might head all the books.”
way out to the sea.”
“If you call em’ ‘graphic novels’ they count
“You spend enough time with that library. just the same.”
Folks might start talking…”
I held up the book. “You sure?”
He waved me off. “They’re already taking
‘bout you and Stacey!” “Yeah, read it already. Let’s keep on going.”

“Shut up man. Oughta toss you right over “How far you think we’ve gone?”
the side.”
“Dunno, but plenty of others made it this
“No need. This water is calling me,” he far,” he said. He nodded to the beer cans.
said and he kicked off his shoes and fell back-
wards over the side, splashing into the water. I stuffed the book in my back pocket just
in case and looked out over the lake, the
I pulled off my sneakers and we took water went right up to the road and under-
turns, one falling off while the other reeled neath via a set of small tunnels, each with
him back, laughing and yelling, almost a grate in front of them to keep out debris
tipping the canoe twice as I flopped and and a metal sheet that could be raised or
lowered as needed.

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“We can’t get through those tunnels,” I “Uh, I guess,” I said. I walked forward, fol-
said. “Wanna head back?” lowing the yellow lines at my feet.

“We can go on and ‘course we’re not going “Where you going?” Dustin yelled. I could
through ‘em,” he said. He turned, flashing a feel the boat pulling on me. The car blew its
devilish smile, heading back to the boat. horn. “Thomas, quit fooling around!”

“Alright,” I said, following, and we pushed “Hey, I’m just walking here.”
off, leaving the island behind us. We found
the shore had a gentle slope near the inter- “No, you’re walking there! Come this way
section. Dustin jumped out and we pulled with it.” As he said it he went to point and
the canoe onto the sand. I waited for him lost his grip, the front of the canoe dropped
to explain. and raked against his side. He howled and
caught it at his waist. “Shit! Piss! Mother…”
“We’ll keep it simple. You just pick up He trailed off as he saw a little girl gaping
your end and we’ll bring it up to the street. through a car front window. Two more cars
We can flip it there and carry it over us.” fell in behind the other. The woman in front
said Dustin. blew her horn and threw up her hands.

We tied down the oars, lifted the canoe, I heaved my end up to my waist. Dustin
and with a little wobbling, brought it to the strained while trying not to panic. “This
corner. A few joggers watched us. I had way!” He yelled and we shuffled forward,
my shoes on but my feet were a little wet holding the canoe as best we could. A man
and with every step I heard a soft hissing in the second car yelled, “What the hell you
of water spreading into the soles and then kids doing?”
sucking back when as I lifted my foot.
We hustled over to the edge and the cars
Squish. passed by, a few drivers yelled while others
used their horns. Dustin looked over the
Dustin stared across the street, toward a boat, running his thin fingers along some
clearing. “Alright, we’re just going to walk it scratches and let out a slow whistle.
right over, okay?”
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m
I stared back at him for a minute before gonna get skinned for this.”
picking my end of the canoe. We turned it
upside down and lifted it above our shoul- He turned away from me and stood
ders. facing the river. It churned past us, frothing
at the edges. I wanted to ask him if he was
“Just act natural,” he said. ready to go back but I knew what that meant
for him. “Well, we’re here. Might as well…”
Squish.
He spun around and looked at me,
I’d taken two steps when Dustin called wearing a quizzical smile, surprised maybe,
out, “Car!” I turned and my hand slipped. but glad all the same.
The inside of the hull hit my head, echoing
in the hollow darkness, and I let out a cry. I “Hmpf,” he said as he shook his head and
grabbed at the sides but couldn’t get a grip laughed. He looked back at the the river.
so I pushed up using my head and shuffled “Yeah, let’s keep on going.” He smiled and
forward. we picked up the canoe and walked it down

“You okay back there?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

to the river, dropping it in with care. We moist in the summer sun. We passed behind
checked for any leaks and climbed back in. the store and Dustin called out, “I could use
some snacks. And a bathroom run.”
The river sped us away and wound its
way onward. The trees changed from tall, “Well, if you see a parking spot — ”
twisting maples to more evergreen pines
and we drifted past a road sign that read “Heh, yeah.” He picked up the oar and
‘town line’. I wasn’t sure how far we’d gone. rowed, not quickly, just to keep ahead of
The farthest I’d ever rode on my bike ended the river as it looked like he hoped to find a
up being a ten minute drive with Mom. Cars place to land the canoe. He didn’t and we
passed from time to time, some with kids in passed the store and the river bent back
the back, some looked down and pointed upon itself, like a snake, and under a set
at us. A couple waved and I heard a little of train tracks on a twenty foot man-made
girl yell to her parents, sitting in front of slope. We eased around the bend, into a
her, that she’d just seen two boys lost on thick, damp, marsh under a small set of
the river. The first time Dustin waved back pines nestled against the slope. A tricycle
but he ignored the rest, digging into the lay just under the water on our left, turned
water with the oar instead and picking up upside with the wheels sticking out, beside
the pace. a couple of bottles, and some trash resting
along the edge. We pushed past, spying the
“Hey,” I said. “You going out for the base- sky through a hole in the trees and came
ball team next year?” to a concrete arch running under the train
tracks. It was low enough that I ducked my
“Hadn’t really thought about it, but no, head so my eyes were level with the canoe.
don’t think so.”
The arch led into a small pond with an
“You should. You’re better than any of us.” old stone building on the right, sitting along-
side a small lot filled with cars parked up
“Eh, doesn’t matter. You still doing honors against the train tracks. A school sat on our
math?” left with high glass windows sitting framed
by red brick and granite running along the
“Yeah.” edges. The pond was cool blue, rippling in
the breeze and we sat back, gazing out and
He smirked. “You’re good at that you smiling, as we drifted along and pointing
know,” he said. “Your Dad still help you?” things out to one another.

“Not much,” I said. From behind we heard a little girl’s voice
say, “Are they supposed to be there?”
“That’s alright. I bet you’ll end up using
that.” The girl’s mother hesitated. “Uh, I’m not
sure.”
As the river bent the water slowed and
we came to a grocery store on our left. I put I leaned forward, not wanting to look
down my paddle and rubbed my shoulder, back, and whispered, “What do we do?”
which had started to ache, as Dustin leaned
forward, resting his arms on the oar he laid Dustin smiled. “Buncha’ rich kids. Bet
across the boat. The banks were filled with they just want us out of their pond.” He
reeds edged with a few small trees. The big reached into the water with the oar and
pines and maples had been cut down long pulled. I did the same from the front and we
ago. It was warmer here, the air thick and

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Revista Literária Adelaide

sped up. A few more onlookers appeared step to the next and a couple of feet wide,
at the edge; an old couple walking a path not too hard to walk if there wasn’t all that
stopped and pointed and a boy, maybe water.
seven or eight, rode his bike off the side-
walk while staring at us. “Dang…,” said Dustin. He motioned to
me. “We’ll have to carry it down,” he said
I said in a low voice, “We’re not supposed in a state of excited bewilderment.
to be here.”
“Down a waterfall?”
“Keep rowing,” said Dustin. He led us
under a stone bridge where the pond nar- “Yeah, you got a better plan? We’ll just
rowed into the river. A woman stopped, jump out as we get to the top. Once we get
staring, as we passed under, with two chil- on that step we can just lift the canoe and
dren on either side of her, the older frowning take the steps one at a time.”
and the other marveling, waving at us with a
Cheshire Cat grin fixed on his face. I looked past him, shaking my head. He
turned, called out directions as he took his
“Where do you think you’ll end up?” oar and guided us along the edge. I heard
him mutter to himself, “The sides will be
I stuttered, “Me? When I’m older?” slowest.”

“Yeah.” I held my oar as the tip of the canoe
slipped closer. Dustin put his down and
“I dunno. I guess somewhere around here. jumped out. The water was just above his
You?” waist. I placed my oar against the hull and
leaned over the side. Dustin found his footing,
“Somewhere else,” he said. and climbed onto the top step. He nodded
and I jumped and my feet pressed down on
The current swept us along, past the the soft muck and long, tough plant sinews
bridge and we came into a clearing with a pulled at my toes. I let go of the canoe and
view of an elegant granite library. A patch- threw myself forward, splashing ahead until
work of lily pads were scattered along a I pulled myself up onto the concrete.
bulge on the left, lined by a wrought iron
fence, as the river turned to the right. Dustin The water rushed by my shins, roaring
turned, smiling, while I craned ahead as my and tumbling past me and falling into
ears picked up a soft rushing sound. foaming whirlpools on the steps below. I
heard Dustin yell, “You okay?” I nodded. He
“You hear that?” held the front and pointed at the step below,
nodding for me to jump down. I hopped
“Hear what?” Dustin’s eyes twitched down and turned to reach out. A man in
sideways and he cocked his head to listen, navy pants, a baby blue buttoned shirt with
sitting up on his knees. The river opened a badge was stepping down from the bridge,
as he went around the bend and we came coming towards us. The officer yelled and I
to another bridge, red brick with concrete didn’t need to hear him to understand, “Get
edging, running over a small man-made wa- out of there!”
terfall.
I pointed and Dustin turned. The officer
The waterfall was made of half a dozen waved his arm as he tried to find some
concrete steps that formed a semicircular
ring. It was about a four foot drop from one

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

footing on the embankment. Dustin let out a “From the boat?”
wild yelp, his left arm waving out to the side.
He rushed ahead with the boat and I almost “I mean, yeah, I’ll look the other way and
fell down, going to my knees. I lost my hold you just do what you gotta do.”
on the canoe and it dropped, landing with a
dull thud that echoed under the bridge. He sighed. “I guess…”

Dustin yelled, “Pick it up!” We drifted under the shelter of the pines
and picked up the oars. We sat and listened.
I scrambled to my feet as we threw our- Dustin squirmed until I told him, “Alright, go
selves and the boat forward. The policeman for it.”
yelled out from the edge of the steps and it
occurred to me that he was close enough to I turned away and held the oar. From
hear now. He hollered for us to stop, to get the corner of my eye I could make out
out, and a few choice curses in between. He Dustin’s reflection leaning over the edge. I
crashed down the steps as we landed the stared at a small thicket of twigs and leaves
canoe in the river and jumped in headfirst toiling under a fallen tree. I heard him unzip,
as the water swept us away. breathe, and a soft tinkling sound. I smiled,
trying not to laugh, as I imagined him
We lay there panting until Dustin pushed standing there, without the bruises, pissing
himself up onto his elbows and looked back into the river looking ‘round, trying to hurry
while I lay there, watching his eyes, hoping. himself. I had half a mind to rock the boat
“I don’t see him,” he said. I collapsed on my and before I knew it, I was.
back and started laughing.
“Hey! Quit it!” Dustin called over his
“I can’t believe we just did that!” shoulder. I smiled, trying not to laugh but
I couldn’t. I tried to cough, anything but
“Tell me about it!” said Dustin. He smiled, laugh. I laughed anyway and I stopped
his eyes wild, and we sat up and worked trying, doubling over and looking at my own
the river. After a few minutes we started toothy grin in the water.
recounting our escape; our faces, expres-
sions, falling and the policeman splashing Dustin laughed. “Shut up!” he called
after us. We wondered how many people and then he zipped and sat down, giggling
had watched. in spite of himself. He grabbed the oar, guf-
fawed, and started rowing, heading further
“That’ll be something they talk about for down the river together.
years,” said Dustin.
We went on and in a while the river
We laughed and relaxed, smiling in our opened up and widened into a larger lake
wet clothes. We drifted along until a little with a jogging path on the left and a few
later Dustin started squirming in his seat. cars on the road alongside it. A few small
turnabouts were sailing, scattered across
“You okay?” I said. the water, all tacking into the wind at similar
angles. Their sails caught the sun, reflecting
“I still need to take a leak.” red, white and yellow hues. Each had a pas-
senger, some two, all wearing collared shirts
“Oh…”. I looked around. Trees shot up to and sun glasses. Dustin pointed to the sail-
the right of us, a soccer field on the left but boats and steered toward them. I flexed my
up ahead trees and tall grass lined both sides.
“Up there.” I pointed. “You can go up there.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

hands, gripping the oar and digging into the A women in a blue dress, carrying a
water. child in her arms, stopped and looked at
me. She tilted her head to the side and said,
“Come on,” he said. “Thomas?”

“I’m tired.” “Oh, hi Mrs. Kearns.” I gave her a thin
smile as she glanced around.
He stopped and said, “I know. Not much
further.” “Where’s your mother?”

With each stroke we gained on the turn- I looked back at her.
abouts and I felt the sun burning the back
of my neck as my stomach growled. I closed “What are you doing this far from home?
my eyes and could picture my mother in the Are you here alone?”
kitchen, smell the pancakes on the griddle
with blueberries drizzled on top. We turned I looked back over my shoulder. Dustin
to follow the sailboats as we made our way to peeked out through the bushes. He smiled
the far side of the lake where the river wound and nodded. I said, “Yeah.”
around a small wooded peninsula and under
a bridge. Dustin amused himself with a blister “Oh, honey, I was just talking to your
starting to grow on his thumb, smiling to him- mother this morning.”
self as I sat, struck with the damage to my
soft hands and how childish they felt. I shuffled my feet.

“Hey, let’s pull over. I gotta go and I don’t “Do you need you a ride?”
want to try from the boat,” I said.
I looked back once more. Dustin walked
“Yeah. Sure.” to the canoe. I walked with Mrs. Kearns,
trailing behind slightly, and said, “Thanks.”
We slid into a landing and I jumped out
onto the bank. Mrs. Kearns smiled back. “We’re just over
here,” she said. She pointed to a light gray
“Hey, Thomas?” car with a baby seat in the back. I followed
them and as they got inside. I put my hand
“Yeah?” over my eyes, to shield them from the glare
across the lake. Dustin waved to me from
“Thanks,” said Dustin. the boat with the water shimmering behind
him. I took my seat in the car, heading for
I nodded and walked under a maple, be- home and watched through the window as
hind the bushes along the shore. I heard Dustin turned and drifted away, down the
Dustin step out of the boat, kicking up dirt river, wherever it would lead him.
along the slope and wading into the tall
grass. I relaxed, took a deep breath, letting I remember sitting in that car, and feeling
my aching shoulders slump, and relieved the book in my pocket poking into me. I
myself. The breeze whistled past my face as pulled it out. Torn and wet, I used my shirt to
I closed my eyes. dry it a little and holding it, just as I am now.

I finished and heard familiar voices car- I put the book down on the table, picked
rying on nearby. Dustin stood, skipping up the box that I’d filled with the others and
stones into the lake and as the voices came called out to my wife, “All set. Just one I’m
closer I stepped out from behind the bushes. not ready to let go of…”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Jared Carlson: I’ve been a biochemist, an engineer, a hacker and now turning to writing,
in Lesley University’s MFA program. I’m a new author, recently published in the Evening
Street Review, along with an upcoming piece in Meridian. When I’m not writing I take turns
analyzing, hacking, and being a father.

26

TO JUMP

by Darren Deth

Matt wondered what sound Abby made the person he saw inside Abby. A skeleton
when she hit the rocks below. How had she he thought would save him.
chosen the spot where she would go over
the railing into the air for the last few sec- Matt pulled his wind breaker tighter
onds of her life? Did she agonize about which about him and tugged his baseball cap
one would be most effective, as she did when down on his head, as the northeast wind
going through recipes every night for dinner, gusted up, swirling little bits of gravel into
trying to decide what to make, and then set- mini twisters around his ankles. The first
tling on something that took hours to cook snow storm of the season was ravaging
and barely touching it afterwards? How had its way through later on that night, and
she gone over the railing? Did she look for- slated to last the next couple of days. The
ward and flip herself over headfirst, her view crazies would come out tomorrow, sliding
shifting from sky to horizon to the gorge rush- and crashing into each other, mailboxes,
ing up at her? Maybe her eyes were closed. telephone poles, having forgotten, or
Or she sat on the railing, the abyss behind her, never even experienced, the havoc of a
and simply tipped back. Perhaps she parked nor’easter.
her car, ran across the road, grabbed the rail-
ing and hurled herself over, like she did when He leaned against the cold, black
mounting the balance beam in gymnastics wrought iron railing, and gazed down into
when she was a child. the rushing water at the foot of the gorge,
smashing and spraying up over chunks of
Abby’s body was broken. The years of granite. Shuddering, he hugged himself,
anorexia had left scant flesh over her tiny more against the internal chill than the
frame. Her mother wanted an open casket whipping wind around him. Speaking in a
for the service, but the funeral director was restrained tone, Matt pinned against the
able to convince her not to, the mortician door of his and Abby’s apartment, her
having no way of putting Abby back to- father blamed him for her death. What
gether. Her left arm, severed at the shoulder, her father didn’t account for was when
was tucked into the sleeve of the blouse her he put his hand on Matt he cemented
family buried her in. She was already a skel- Abby’s story, that her uncle had abused
eton, shrouded in translucent skin. her, and that he knew about it and did
nothing. Still, did she sense Matt’s need
But Abby was Matt’s skeleton to love. A to be loved by her, as he loved her. Did it
skeleton whom he wanted to transform into overwhelm her?

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Matt?” Hearing his name startled him it, one would have thought that it was the
and he stepped back off the curb onto the first time it ever happened out here at the
road. He turned to see Abby’s former room- gorge, not the at least once annual event
mate, Emily, approaching him from his left. that it was. Most of the letters were unkind,
She stopped a few paces away, and leaned focusing on the question how one person
one handed against the railing. “How long could be selfish and destroy a community’s
have you been out here?” image, how one person could soil the one
thing that aided in the town’s survival.
He stepped back up onto the curb and
looked down into the gorge, before tipping “Matt…”
back his head and peering into the grey
clouds. “Storm’s coming,” he said. The first “I know, Em. The town will never allow it.
flecks of snow started drifting downward Doesn’t mean I can’t imagine it there.” Matt
and another gust of wind swept across the sighed and turned his back to the railing.
bridge, sandblasting the two of them. “How “Still, it’d be nice if I could at least do one
much do you think we’re going to get?” thing right by her.”

Emily straightened and stepped closer. Emily reached out her hand. Matt pulled
“Anywhere from a quarter inch to four feet, I away before she could make contact. “You
guess.” She stopped beside him and looked should get home. This is going to get bad
out over the edge. “You didn’t answer my quick,” he said. He stepped off the curb and
question.” angled across the bridge for the parking
area, rolling the collar up on the back on
Matt shrugged. “I was thinking that I’d his jacket and cramming his hands into his
like to put a memorial down there for her, jean pockets.
this Spring,” he said, pointing to small bit
of land that jutted into the river. “Nothing “It’s not your fault, Matt. There was
too fancy. A little stone with her name on it. nothing you could have done for her,” she
Maybe a quote.” called out through the increasing wind.

Emily let her head flop. She had been He turned to face her once he was on
over the matter with Matt before. The town the opposite side. “You’re right, Em. Abso-
wasn’t going to let any kind of memorial lutely right. There was nothing I could do
be put there. Not even a temporary cross for her.”
to suggest the passing of a person. It was
too touristy an area. The gorge brought all Matt watched the bridge bend around
sorts of people to it, and with them lots of the curve of the road as he headed back
money to spend in nearby souvenir shops to his apartment. Already the snow was
and restaurants. She had asked her mother, beginning to gather on the road, the wind
the town’s tax collector, who said even sug- forming white serpents slithering down the
gesting it to the selectman would create cracked asphalt. His mouth twitched up-
a stir, providing fuel for the local paper in ward when he thought of how Abby liked
which there were bound to be numerous to drive through the snow, especially when
editorials and letters to the editor. No, it was dark. She said the snow falling in the
there had been enough of a field day with night were like stars, and it made her feel
Abby’s suicide. The way the press covered like she was on some sort of space ship
heading away from earth. He wondered if

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Revista Literária Adelaide

that was what she visualized between the Matt looked up from his notebook and
bridge and the gorge. He tapped the radio stared into his professor’s eyes. Keeping his
on and sped up. Maybe tonight would be vision fixed he capped his pen and slipped
a good night to finally check out the bar his things into his backpack. He hoisted it
below his apartment. Have a few drinks. onto his shoulder, knocking the chair askew.
Meet a few more of the locals. Maybe even “Ask your wife how important academics are.
laugh about something. Didn’t she hang up on you last week when
you wouldn’t go home?”
Matt pulled into his parking space by the
dive dumpster at the rear of the building. Doyle folded his hands on his lap and
Before he opened the car door he could leaned back in his leather chair. “What do
tell it was karaoke night. Some drunk was you think Abby would want you to do?”
already on the stage trying to belt out a
country song, the laughs and blank spaces The two men stared at each other, Matt’s
slipping through the cracked open base- frame taut with pent up energy, ready for
ment windows. To have a drink, or not to flight, while Doyle crossed his right leg over
have a drink. That was the question. To his left, tapping a pen on the blotter on his
jump off the bridge or not to jump off the desk, perfectly balanced on the razor thin
bridge. That was Abby’s question. He knew tension. At the slight dropping of Matt’s
how Abby answered it. right shoulder, Doyle motioned to the
empty chair.
But he didn’t know his answer.
Matt let his backpack slip off down his
No. No drink. A frozen pizza with a coke. arm, and crash to the floor. He plunked
That was the responsible thing to do. With down in the seat, wishing it would consume
the weight of Shakespeare, Early American him. He hunched over, cupping his hands,
Literature, and Modern Poetry, he trudged his head down, avoiding Doyle’s eyes. What
up the back stairway to his apartment to would Abby want him to do? He shook his
settle in for the night. If he was in bed by head back and forth. “I don’t know,” he
eight he could be at the gym at school by said, barely above a whisper. He raised his
four in the morning, and then complete his head enough to see Doyle’s face, feeling
assignments in the library, or draft excuses the stinging sensation in his nose that was
as to why he should have another extension the precursor to him crying. He pinched the
in time for his meeting with his advisor in tears back with forefinger and thumb.
the afternoon.
Doyle leaned forward to be on Matt’s
* level. “What do you think you want to do?”

Matt sat in the corner chair, holding his pen Matt didn’t respond. He looked out the
in a white knuckled grip against his note- window, at the edges of thin clouds. But he
book, waiting for his advisor’s decision on didn’t see any of this. The bridge is what
his extension request. he saw, suspended in mid-air, enveloped
by white flakes. And him midway on it,
“Have you thought of writing about the grasping the railing, and gazing down into
experience?” his advisor, J.P. Doyle asked. the abyss. He raised his left leg over the iron.
“It might help you get back on track with
your academics.” “Well, at least you’re smiling,” Doyle said,
leaning back up. “First time I’ve seen that in

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

a while.” He sighed. “I know it’s been rough way lamps weaving the path by the pond il-
for you. I’m going to give you a two-week luminated the storm. He stretched his arms
extension on the Bible as Literature paper. out, spreading his fingers. Looking down at
The deadline for Modern Poetry sticks.” He his laptop he realized he had finished the
jotted something down in his planner. “Do first and final draft of the paper. Reading
you know why I push you?” the last paragraph, he didn’t remember
writing it. He noticed a couple of words
Matt rose from his seat and reached were missing, filled them in, and printed it
down for his backpack, shaking his head no. out.

“It’s because I know you can do better. Outside, the pinpricks of sleet slapped
And I know that you know you can, too.” him against the face. He chose to feel the
sensation and not roll his jacket collar up
Outside Matt zipped his jacket up to his as he walked back to the faculty building.
neck and donned his gloves. Only a week By Doyle’s office, he took one final look at
past Thanksgiving and winter had settled in. the cover page and slid the paper under the
A thick blanket of snow covered the ground door, and then deposited his English text
with another storm starting that night. If he books on the side table in the waiting area.
left for the bridge now he could be there
in just under an hour. Gone in an hour. He Back in the storm he walked against the
stood at the intersection of two paths, one wind, past the path to the library, heading
leading to the library where he could write to the parking area. He circled the pond,
his paper and continue on with life, and the and through the cluster of dorms. As he
other to the parking lot. Under the thinly ascended the steps to the lot he heard
veiled sun he turned his vision back and someone call his name, but pretended not
forth between each one, his feet still. His to hear. He continued up the stairs, and
mind alternated between thoughts of how then felt the smack of a snowball against
Abby had saved him from their synched the back of his neck. He shook his head
traumas, and how he had the ability to and felt the remnants of it slither down
push himself as did Doyle. Then the reali- between his clothing and skin, shocked
zation. Doyle had pushed him in a way not back into the moment. Turning around he
intended, not by asking what he wanted to saw Emily coming up the stairs behind him.
do, but by asking what Abby would want She stopped a couple of steps below him.
him to do. The man deserved more than “You’re not driving in this. The roads are
to read about his plunge in the newspaper, horrible. There’s already been a pileup at
the scathing letters and editorials on selfish- the foot of the hill.” She reached out for his
ness. Matt turned to the library. hand. Matt looked at her outstretched arm,
not moving. Emily leaned closer and tight-
* ened her fingers around his. “The bridge
will be there tomorrow.”
He didn’t know how long he had been
asleep, but it was dark outside. The walk-

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Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author

Darren A. Deth resides in Lewiston, Maine with his wife, Christine. His work has appeared
in Pentimento Magazine and Zest Maine. He is a 2008 graduate of the Vermont College of
Fine Arts MFA in Writing program. His day gig is as an Assistant Program Coordinator for New
Beginnings, an organization devoted to working with homeless youth.

31

RESPECT THE
CLEANERS

by Elias Andreopoulos

Tanya had let it go on long enough. Meeting Of her five siblings, she was the only one
with the Headmaster was her only option. not in jail or dead. She struggled with meth
She worked at the Rochester Academy, a addiction for ten years, but was clean for
private All Girls school serving Kindergar- ten months. The stigma followed her, since
ten through 12th Grade on the Lower East she still had the look of an addict, with fa-
Side of Manhattan. Daughters of high soci- cial pockmarks, sunken eyes and a rail thin
ety are sent there to be intellectually stim- frame. Her measly status made her idea of
ulated and molded into the future leaders complaining to the Headmaster ridiculous,
of tomorrow. Here the child is always right. such a brazen act could get her in trouble.
Parents can remove their beloveds if they Only at a spoiled brat school could a cleaner
believe they had been wronged, and hun- get in trouble for the girls defecating on
dreds of thousands of dollars of tuition the bathroom floor and smearing it on the
money gets diverted to a rival institution. walls, floors, and mirrors. She didn’t know
Each family is a customer. If their daughters whether it was a concerted effort by a few,
had a wonderful experience, the higher or done by many. Regardless, it was unbe-
probability they would make tax deduct- coming of ladies of their upbringing.
ible donations to the school. And if the
girls loved it there, they could one day send She lived in practical squalor in a Bronx
their own daughters for the legacy of well basement and spent her days and nights
bred bitches paying exorbitant tuition to working her two jobs, the other cleaning
continue. hotel rooms. She sometimes wondered why
she bothered getting clean, since life was
Tanya was a night cleaner at Rochester, equally miserable when she was on meth.
the lowest on the staff hierarchy. She was There was always the temptation to give in
instructed to never interact with the girls, to addiction, because for that high moment,
like her lack of education could be conta- everything was fine. She committed terrible
gious to the perfect ladies of high society. acts in those lost years of addiction. Stole
She understood. Her mother was a prosti- from the vulnerable, committed armed rob-
tute, her father could have been anyone. bery, prostituted her body. She deserved to

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Revista Literária Adelaide

clean shit, a perpetual penance, but the An hour slowly passed before the Head-
more she did it and the more degradation master opened her door. She was a petite
she felt, the higher the probability of re- mousy looking woman in her mid-forties
lapsing. with blonde hair, blue eyes, a small mole on
her chin and a dusting of makeup powdered
The Headmaster, who got paid over 500k on her face. Her name was Angelique Beau-
annually and whose school earned millions lieu, which sounded upper class, befitting
in revenue, didn’t find it necessary to pro- of her executive role. “Come inside,” the
vide the cleaning staff with paper towels, Headmaster said.
disguising her miser behavior as a “Go
Green” initiative. Cleaning feces with a mop, Tanya stood and smiled, thankful she
then cleaning classrooms with the same fixed her formerly meth rotted teeth upon
mop was cross contamination of the highest getting clean. When interacting with the
order, so she brought her own paper towels. upper class, she needed to look decent to
The Headmaster wanted to be politically be taken seriously. “Thank you for meeting
correct and save money, and didn’t care if me.”
the expected standards of cleanliness were
achieved with paper towels paid from the The office was spectacular. Three di-
lowest earning’s pockets. plomas from Brown University were prom-
inently displayed behind an enormous ex-
Tanya dressed in her best clothes and ecutive desk, approximately 5-6 feet long.
styled her hair for the first time in ages for The wood paneled walls were decorated
the meeting with the Headmaster. She en- with vibrantly colored education themed oil
tered the office where a middle aged, ste- paintings. A large bay window overlooked
reotypically dressed and featured secretary the courtyard with the skyscrapers of Man-
typed on her computer. “Can I please speak hattan as the backdrop. Plushly cushioned
to the Headmaster?” Tanya asked. chairs were in front of the desk, and she sat
on one. Quite a stipend was allocated for
“Do you have an appointment?” the sec- decorating when an aura of success had to
retary replied, brushing away her dyed red be portrayed. Magnificence defined Roch-
hair. ester.

“No, but this is important,” Tanya said. “Why are you visiting me?” The Head-
master’s tone was taut, showing her time
“She’s not available now, but I’ll call her wasn’t to be wasted.
to see when she is.”
The air nervously rose in Tanya’s throat.
Tanya thought back to being high, how a She felt small and unworthy complaining to
hit would make nervous moments like what this powerful woman in her brilliant office.
she was experiencing bearable. Her mouth “I want to let you know about a situation
salivated, head grew weak and heart beat in the Middle School.” Her tone was meek,
irregularly. Ten months of sobriety could be which was not what she wanted.
wasted in a moment of weakness. Strength
was imperative. No matter how awful the “Sorry, but who are you?” The Headmas-
cravings were and how miserable her life ter’s eyes gave off a vibe of annoyance, that
was, she maintained her identity off meth. she couldn’t be bothered with anything
She was a caring human being, not some Tanya said.
faceless junkie.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m contamination. The temptation to use meth
Tanya Jones, the night cleaner at the Middle was strong as ever.
School.”
*
“Oh.”
Tanya’s shift began in the cafeteria, where
“I get here when the school day ends, so she put the cloth napkins the students used
I’m in the background. But I work hard!” for lunch in the washing machine. She held
off washing a handful of them, and put them
“Okay.” The Headmaster couldn’t care if in her rolling cart. Rage harbored inside her,
she tried, and her patience was dwindling. turned her stomach and blinded her from
differentiating right from wrong. The Head-
Tanya stuttered while trying to form a master disrespected her, despite preaching
coherent sentence. Her perceived unwor- inclusiveness and kindness on the website
thiness sabotaged her. “This is hard to say, and in letters to staff. Respect was unneces-
but the girls are smearing feces all over the sary for someone whose job was to clean shit.
bathrooms.” Hypocrisy. Meth would make it bearable. But
the Headmaster and the snotty girls couldn’t
The Headmaster crossed her legs, like be the cause of her premature death, be-
she was not going to take the issue seriously. cause that’s what a hit would lead to.
Her eyes rolled and she gave an elongated
sigh. “So you want me to send letters home Feelings of inadequacy overwhelmed
about this and force parents to have that her. Nothing in the bank, wasn’t dating any-
conversation with their children? A majority body, no friends or children. She amounted
of whom are innocent. Parents will believe to nothing. Her miserable life’s purpose was
their children are being accused. Or do you to clean shit. She wheeled her cart to the
want me to make an announcement on the soiled bathroom and cleaned it with the
loudspeaker to start rumors? You’re paid to white cloth napkins until they were brown.
clean bathrooms, so clean bathrooms!” She She got those bitches back, but with many
slammed a folder against her desk to illus- innocent bystanders, too many. In her state,
trate her point. she didn’t care. She dumped the soiled
napkins into the washing machine, fully re-
The point was understood. Her job was alizing the immense trouble she could get
to clean shit. “Can you provide me with into, and not regretting it.
paper towels instead of a mop to clean it?
I’m paying my own money for them.” The routine continued for a week. No-
body voiced a complaint about the napkins
“We’re a green school. What example will to her, though they were obviously dirtier,
we be setting if reams of paper towels are and some were becoming unsalvageable.
being delivered? The only paper we use in There was a greater volume to wash, so
this school is toilet paper.” The Headmaster many discarded their napkin without using
stood up, cueing Tanya to leave. The Head- it for a cleaner one. She started coming to
master took offense to the reality of her work earlier and sat on the toilet to catch
situation, which wasn’t the reaction Tanya the culprits in the act. She wouldn’t yell or
expected from someone so prominent and discipline them, she just wanted to plead
educated. for them to stop. It was a sad way of life.

Tanya left the office, feeling depressed,
couldn’t even argue the dangers of cross

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Revista Literária Adelaide

A group of girls entered the bathroom, clearly didn’t enjoy, making it a chore on
and she instinctively brought her legs up to top of homework, reports, and extra-circu-
give them the illusion of solitude. It was 3: lars. The Headmaster’s pressure was unnec-
15, right before after-school activities began, essary, and Tanya didn’t blame them for es-
and a prime time for the act to unfold with caping. The interaction showed the woman
fewer people to catch them. Her heart beat had no business working with children.
apprehensively.
“They better win,” the Headmaster re-
“I really don’t want to play today. I’m marked to herself. She entered the stall next
done with field hockey,” the first girl said. to Tanya and proceeded to crap her brains
out. Impressive force for such a petite
“It’s not even a sport,” said the second woman. There was splatter, which would
girl. make it difficult to clean. She had the con-
fidence of someone who thought she was
“I’m perfectly cool riding the bench,” said alone, didn’t even courtesy flush. There
the third girl. was a splat against the wall, and a piece
of crap covered toilet paper slid down. No
“But you’re the backup goalie. If Sam gets way could Tanya have considered the Head-
hurt, you’ll be in. There’s nothing more em- master was the psychopath smearing the
barrassing than giving up a bunch of goals,” shit, and took out her phone to record the
said the first girl. bitch red-handed.

The girls ran the water, presumably The Headmaster exited her stall. Tanya
washing their faces and hands, while con- stood on top of the toilet to get a view of
tinuing to complain about field hockey. the entire bathroom and started recording.
There was a collective misery, a sisterhood Just like Tanya hoped, she captured the
of sadness. Those girls weren’t smearing Headmaster throwing a shit filled piece
feces, they were the victims wiping their of toilet paper against the mirror. The
faces with soiled napkins, providing the Headmaster gave a maniacal laugh, while
human side of her victims. But she con- washing her hands over the filth, disgust-
sciously ignored that. Another dead end. ingness of unfathomable proportions. She
The culprit or culprits were probably doing was in a public restroom that anybody could
their damage to another bathroom as she walk into, yet had a God complex that made
sat helplessly. Someone with a loud clanking her believe she was indestructible, and she
heels entered the bathroom. “Hello Ms. was far from it.
Beaulieu,” the girls said in unison.
Tanya became the most powerful person
“Win today!” the Headmaster exclaimed. at the Rochester Academy. The former
junkie noticed by nobody was important for
“We’ll try!” the first girl replied, faking the first time ever. She could leak the video
enthusiasm. with the caption that the filth was cleaned
with the cloth napkins the girls used at
“You’ll win!” the Headmaster com- lunch. No school could survive such scandal.
manded, adding pressure, like there wasn’t Parents would remove their daughters and
enough already. “We’re playing a school for sue, causing the infrastructure to crumble
the deaf. Losing is inexcusable!” and disgrace the school’s legacy.

The girls rushed away, without re-
sponding to her demands. They were
normal kids forced to play a sport they

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

* The Headmaster cut her off. “I was
about to find you because I did some dig-
Tanya copied the video to digital and phys- ging into your past, and uncovered an arrest
ical storage. Reaching out to the Head- for methamphetamine possession. That’s
master before anything drastic transpired on me for missing out on the background
was good practice. Give the psychopath a check. Meth use is not indicative of the
chance to explain her indefensible actions. values of Rochester and a poor example to
Tanya wanted a promotion and 10k for set for our girls.”
keeping her mouth shut, which was noth-
ing in comparison to the damage she could “I do not deny that. It was scrubbed from
do. It was so measly that it wasn’t black- my record.”
mail, it was claiming what was rightly hers.
She returned to the Headmaster’s office “But you lied on your application, so you
the next day, a Friday. The secretary gave will be terminated, effective immediately.”
her a dirty look, the mean girl tactics of
middle school must have been contagious Tanya maintained her composure. She
to her. “I’m here to meet with the Head- had the Headmaster right where she
master,” Tanya said. wanted her. “I’ll give you a counteroffer, and
that is you give me a promotion to custo-
“She doesn’t have time to meet with you,” dian with the raise that goes with it, as well
the secretary said. as 10k in cash.”

“I’ll wait,” Tanya said, standing her ground. The Headmaster broke out into laughter.
“Are you high? Smoking that meth?”
“She’s too busy for you.”
“Change the 10k to 20.” Tanya’s tone was
“I can catch her when she’s walking out of direct, no-nonsense.
her office if she’s so busy. She has to go to
the bathroom sometime.” “You’re insane. I’ll call security if you
don’t leave with whatever dignity you have
“You’re not understanding me. She can’t left.”
meet with someone like you.”
“200k.” Tanya was regarded as if she was
“Believe me, it’s in her best interest.” trash, so any mercy was out.

“I doubt it, you’re just a cleaner.” The Headmaster reached for her desk
phone, clueless her world would come
The secretary’s entitlement astounded crashing down in a matter of seconds. Tanya
her. A cleaner was an honest job necessary put her phone in the Headmaster’s face and
for the school to function, Tanya doubted played the video. A wide range of agonizing
the secretary would clean feces smeared scenarios clearly ran through the Headmas-
bathrooms. She opened the door to the ter’s mind. Her fate was in the hands of a
Headmaster’s office, where the Headmaster lowly uneducated cleaner, someone who
was typing on her computer. “Don’t worry she never respected. The Headmaster held
Gloria, she can stay!” the Headmaster yelled absolutely no power.
out to the secretary. “Take a seat.”
“What do you want from me?”
Tanya shut the door behind her, with no
intentions of sitting. “I have something to “Like I said, a promotion and 200k. If not,
discuss.” the video gets released. I have it backed up,

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so if something happens to me, not saying The Headmaster nervously tapped her
you’re so depraved to hurt or even kill me, finger and quickly stopped after realizing
I entrusted someone to release it.” The last it. Her guard lowered for a moment, and
part was a lie, but Tanya had to maintain the any confidence she portrayed would be
fear. She didn’t know what levels the Head- making up for how powerless she felt. Her
master would go to protect her reputation. forehead sweat, and she wiped it with her
Insurance was necessary. dress sleeve. Her body was betraying her. “I
don’t have 200k liquid.”
“I can’t fire someone and make you a cus-
todian, and we have accountants, so I can’t Tanya wasn’t as dumb as the Head-
give you 200k. I feel terrible about what I master thought, and she enjoyed proving it.
did, I really do!” Her response was a rushed Being a junkie doesn’t mean you’re stupid,
cop-out. it means you made poor decisions. “Sell off
investments. I shouldn’t be telling you this.
“Treating me like a stiff is only digging When I come in on Monday, I want 200k
yourself into a deeper hole.” and a contract for my promotion.” Tanya
came to verbalize her demands, not nego-
“The video is fuzzy, people may not be- tiate. Lingering would weaken her position.
lieve it’s me.” The Headmaster was coun- “Don’t forget, I only asked for 10k, but your
tering, instead of taking responsibility. disrespect multiplied it twentyfold!”

“Go for it, if that’s the risk you want to “Wait, please! I need more time!” Her
take. So you know, I cleaned the shit with the plea was desperate.
cafeteria napkins, because you don’t allow
paper towels. That’ll be released as well.” Tanya didn’t respond, would let the bitch
sweat. The sociopath shit all over the floors
“Then you’ll be in just as much trouble as for a month, and continued doing so even
me, maybe more, because you committed after being confronted about it. There had
a crime!” to be repercussions to her actions, and
paying 200k was getting off easy with all
“I have nothing, and thus nothing to lose. she could lose.
You have so much, and thus everything to
lose.” *

The Headmaster paused. That comment Monday arrived. Tanya went to the Head-
resonated, and terrified her. “Fine, I’ll give master’s office once school began, a confi-
you the job. I’ll make it sound necessary dent strut in her step. She had been waiting
to the Board that we need another cus- for it all weekend. For the first time in over
todian. But I can’t embezzle 200k. Maybe a decade she felt no itch to use. There was
I can overpay you 10k a year, and you can excitement for the future and the possibil-
eventually get your money if you work here ities it could bring. An email draft with the
long enough.” She was business like, hiding video attachment was ready to be sent to
her nerves and powerlessness under a false the Board of Directors, along with the lie
demeanor of confidence. In her deranged that the Headmaster demanded the filth
mind, she justified her weak proposal as a be cleaned with the cloth cafeteria nap-
fair business deal. kins. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
A payment and promotion was best for ev-
“The 200k doesn’t have to come from the
school. You make an impressive salary.”

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eryone. She entered the office where the Tanya didn’t come to beg. She hit send
door was open for her expected arrival. on the email and showed the done deed
The secretary didn’t do anything to stop to the Headmaster, giving a devious smirk.
her, treating her with a mixture of fear and There was no hesitation. “I sent it to the
respect. The Headmaster confidently sat at Board of Directors. Fox 5 is next, I love
her desk dressed in a business suit, a sign Rosanna Scotto. She slapped the guy who
that nothing would transpire seamlessly. played McLovin for insinuating her daughter
Tanya closed the door behind her to create had sex, watch it on YouTube.”
an environment of trust and transparency.
“Wait, you did it?” the Headmaster ex-
“Sit down,” the Headmaster said, trying claimed. She expected back and forth banter,
to take control with a command. and eventually a compromise, a grave mis-
calculation when dealing with somebody
“No need. Do you have my money and with nothing to lose. The Headmaster’s
my promotion contract?” world crashed around her, and it all could
have been avoided if she took Tanya seri-
“I need assurance that you’ll delete the ously. But her pride would never allow her.
video.” She needed to learn this lesson.

“I promise. I don’t want it released either. “Yeah.”
I cleaned the shit with the napkins.”
And that was that. No money or promo-
“You won’t release it, because you’re a tion. Back to square one, but Tanya would
coward who is terrified of jail.” The Head- take it. Maybe the bitch would think twice
master stood up, getting eye to eye with before mistreating someone who she con-
Tanya. “Did you expect I would give some sidered lower than her. At the end of the
loser a promotion and 200k of my hard day, everyone is the same blood, bones, and
earned money? Look at those three di- guts. Tanya walked out of the office, feeling
plomas, I’ve got intelligence, I’ve got pres- a sense of accomplishment and excitement
tige! Nobody will take your word over mine!” for what the future would bring her.
This was a game to the Headmaster, one she
was risking her livelihood and reputation on.

About the Author
Elias Andreopoulos lives in Ohio. He is interested in joining a rock band!

38

GHOSTS OF
THE REPUBLIC

by Edward Mack

Sultan was staring at a ghost. He wore a paper Sultan would have laughed if Derya’s fa-
cap and a white apron that was tied behind ther didn’t remind him so much of his own
his neck and held a long carving knife in his ghosts, hovering phantasmally nearby.
right hand. The ghost was standing next to
his son at the front of the kebap restaurant. “Yes,” the Fat Pasha said, licking his fat
lips, “lots of meat! This boy knows how to
“Does your father give you as much hell do it.” He waddled to the spinning kebap
as mine do?” Sultan asked Derya, who was and sniffed at it salaciously, catching his fez
slicing lamb meat off a roasting kebap. when it threatened to tumble off his bushy
head.
Derya eyed Sultan, his knife never
pausing. “What do you think?” “Get your nose out of my kebap,” the
ghost of Derya’s father said, hip-checking
As if on cue, the ghost burst out impa- the fat pasha who went bouncing down the
tiently, “Allah, Allah, how many times must counter. “Fat slices, bah! This is why your
I tell you to slice thin strips. Thin strips so Ottoman Empire fell. Greed and excess and
that there is more of it. More room for let- no moderation. You must slice thin slices.
tuce. Here, let me show you.” The ghost Very many kebaps this way.”
attempted to hip-check Derya out from in
front of the spinning pile of meat, but only Sultan ignored the ghosts as they
passed right through him. launched into an argument over the proper
way to slice kebap. At least the two ghosts
“Dad, I know how to slice kebap.” got along. It was a relief to Sultan, having at
least one pasha occupied with something
“People do not want these big chunks other than nagging him about his inferiority
of meat. They want little slices. Spread the for a few minutes. Though the ghost of his
flavor around. More surface area. More great-grandfather was good-spirited in gen-
room for lettuce.” eral, even he could be vicious when his blood
was up. And the qualities of forefathers only
“Maybe in your day that’s how it was,” degenerated from there. Surviving was hard
Derya said. “But now people like big meat.
Lots of meat.” He winked at Sultan.

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enough for Sultan. When coupled with the window with a wink and a smile. The girls
pashas’ expectations for their lineage, the giggled when he returned their change.
burden threatened to overwhelm him.
“Look, big brother,” he said to Sultan, “I
He cast about for the other pashas to wish I could help, really, I do. But this is a
ensure they were staying out of trouble. one-man operation, you know? Besides…” he
The Skinny Pasha and the Wolf lingered at a gestured to the pashas. The Wolf was licking
nearby table, drawing wary glances from a his balls. “Not great for business, you know?”
pair of uncovered girls who were scanning
the restaurant for a place to sit. “I know,” Sultan said, despair deepening.
“Maybe a cousin or—”
“Derya, do you need any help? I mean
here, at the restaurant,” Sultan asked with “I’ll keep an ear out.” Derya sneered
a sigh as the Wolf bared his teeth at the girls at the Skinny Pasha who was staring at a
and they scrambled out of the kebap shop. portrait of Atatürk. “He’s not coming back,”
Even before the Wolf drove away Derya’s Derya yelled across the restaurant.
customers, Sultan was ashamed of asking
for help. But, desperate times. “Leave it,” Sultan said. “You’ll only make
it worse.”
“You want to slice kebap?” Derya said.
“You know you have to slice it thin.” He “You have to stand up to them,” Derya
turned and called to the girls out the said. “Don’t let them push you around. It’s
window. “Come back, come back, I apolo- the only way to live with them.”
gize for my friend’s ghosts. How do free fries
sound?” “Easy for you to say,” Sultan said, as the
Skinny Pasha drifted towards them, “you’ve
The girls watched him for a moment, only got one. And all he cares about is kebap
then slowly returned to the street side of meat. I’ve got three and they all want to
the window counter. make my life as miserable as possible.”

Sultan always envied Derya’s easy way “That’s not true,” the Skinny Pasha
with people, girls especially. But even if said. He was stalk thin, thinner even than
Sultan knew what to say, the pashas would Sultan, and looked as worn out as a field
drive anyone away. Well, almost anyone. left at reaping. The elbows of his suit were
Very few people received the pashas’ ap- threadbare and his collar yellow. He wore
proval. his hair slicked and his back had bent in the
first hunch of age. Why his grandfather had
Sultan picked at the lamination peeling chosen to return in the shape he was when
from a corner of a menu. “I need a job,” he he died was a mystery to Sultan.
said.
“What do you want?” Sultan asked, let-
Derya shoveled lamb into a dürüm, ting his head collapse onto his arms.
stuffed lettuce and onions on top, and
squirted it all with a yogurt sauce. “You “Why would you say that we only want to
want spicy?” he asked the girls, swapping make your life miserable?” the Skinny Pasha
the white yogurt bottle for a red one. He asked. “We came back to help.”
dumped some fries in, bundled the entire
thing in tin foil and handed it through the “What help? Help how?”

The Skinny Pasha had an unnerving habit
of standing so still that it almost seemed he

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wasn’t there at all.“By helping you become “Enough,” Sultan said.
what you could truly be. What you’re meant
to be.” The pocket watch flipped open/closed
faster and faster. “He did what he thought
“And what’s that?” was right,” the Skinny Pasha said “He pro-
tected our way of life better than you ever
“A service to your country.” could.”

Derya laughed. “What, like the Wolf?” Derya laughed. “This is what I mean. The
Hearing his name, the third pasha barked. will of the people is always right just as long
as it is the same as the will of the state.”
“Not like my son, no,” the Skinny Pasha
said. “But there is still hope for you, Sultan. “The state will not be questioned by
You can join the army, protect the republic—” small-minded kebapçı.”

“I already did my service, don’t you re- Sultan had rarely seen the Skinny Pasha
member?” lose his temper. When he did get angry,
however, his entire body trembled like
“I remember!” Derya said, slicing kebap some great eruption was building inside of
for a new customer. “I remember the way him. Hoping he could distract the Skinny
you looked at that first stripper in the mess Pasha before that happened, Sultan asked
hall when she came in.” Derya laughed. “Or, Derya, “Why do you keep the Great Father’s
should I say, didn’t look at her.” portrait if you don’t believe in him?”

Sultan’s head sank deeper into his hands. Derya pointed at the portrait with his
knife, and then pointed at the Skinny Pasha.
“You should have known what they’d do “That man and this man have nothing to do
to religious boys like you,” Derya continued. with one another.”
“But they straightened you out by the end?
Couldn’t have no ignorant country hicks, “How dare you talk about the Great Fa-
could they?” ther that way,” the Skinny Pasha said, step-
ping toward Derya.
“My grandson is not an ignorant country
hick,” the Skinny Pasha said. “He comes “The Great Father? No, I’m talking about
from a mighty line of—” you,” Derya said, holding his knife at his
waist so that if the ghost continued ad-
Derya waved his knife, cutting him off. “I vancing, he would impale himself on it. Or
know, I know. Pashas and all that. I wasn’t would have, if he were flesh. “You think this
saying Sultan is ignorant. I’m saying the is what he wanted?”
army isn’t some grand ‘protector of the
people.’ Not all the people anyway.” “We govern for the people because they
cannot be trusted to know what is best for
“The army is what keeps this country themselves.”
safe,” the Skinny Pasha said. He had taken
out his pocket watch and was flipping it “No,” Derya said. He pointed his knife at
open and closed. “Safe from yabancı. Safe the Fat Pasha who was laughing at some-
from ‘ignorant country hicks’,” he said, thing Derya’s father said. The two ghosts
clearly intimating he was referring to Derya. had, apparently, set aside their differences.
“He couldn’t be trusted to know what was
“What about safe from people like your
son?” Derya asked, pointing the knife at the
Wolf, who barked again.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

best for himself. We,” he waved the knife “Go away.”
between himself and Sultan, “are not a
country-less and derelict empire. We know “Go away, go away,” the Wolf mocked.
how to write and read and don’t treat “This is all I ever hear from you. Bah, you re-
women like they are meat.” ally are a waste. Maybe I will find someone
else to haunt. Maybe Aysu then. She could
“And you can thank the Great Father for use a straightening out.”
that.”
Sultan spun on his father. “Don’t you
“Exactly!” Derya said. dare.” His voice dripped with fury and fear.

“If he were here today—” The Wolf grinned, his teeth stained and
broken. “Or what?” he said and trotted fur-
“If he were here today, he’d want us to ther up the street to piss on a lamppost.
make up our own minds. He wanted Turkey
to progress, not stay stuck in the past, Sultan couldn’t move. If the Wolf
which is where it would be if it were up to touched Asyu, he didn’t know what he’d do,
you and your ‘mighty’ family—not you, of but it would be ugly.
course, Sultan.”
“Go to hell,” he called at his father’s back.
Sultan saw the first trembles ripple
across the Skinny Pasha’s skin. “Maybe I “You should not curse,” the Fat Pasha said,
should go,” Sultan suggested. appearing next to Sultan where the Wolf
had been just moments earlier. He lifted his
Derya shrugged and returned to slicing fez, scratched his head, and replaced the
meat. fez. “You should especially not curse your
own family.”
“If you hear of any work—”
“What has my family ever done for me?”
“Yea,” Derya said. “Hey, hold up.” He
sliced off a double mixed meat kebap, “Everything,” the Fat Pasha said. “Your fa-
wrapped it up, and handed it to Sultan. ther is a bit of a donkey, true, but everything
“You know I can’t let you work here, right?” he ever did, he did because he believed it
would protect you. And your grandfather—
Sultan knew. It was yet another way that
the pashas made his life miserable. “My grandfather should go back to his
own time.”
The pashas trailed out of the shop after
Sultan when he left, bobbing up the street “Your grandfather cares for you.”
in his wake. Sultan had been angry with
them so long that it metastasized into de- “More than he cares for ‘progress’?”
spair. They were why he didn’t have work,
couldn’t keep friends, had no girlfriend. The Fat Pasha clasped his hands behind
his back and strolled up the street. “Your
At least Aysu stood up to them. He grandfather is from a complicated time. He
thought about texting her. Maybe she is doing what he believes is best, for both
would meet him to share a kebap. you and the world.”

“You’d better not be thinking about “No,” Sultan said, following the Fat Pasha.
talking to that whore again,” the Wolf said, “You’re the reason he is the way he is. You
trotting behind Sultan. taught him how to hate. You and your com-
patriots.”

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“Hate?” the Fat Pasha said. A frown set- “You’re wrong,” the pasha said. “We were
tled on his cheeks. “No, no, your father does proud, yes, excessive, greedy. But that is not
not hate. Quite the opposite. It is love that why we fell. It was the people, merchants,
drives your father. Love for his country.” foreigners, who gained more money, more
power. Christians. And so we fell.”
“If he loved his country, he would love its
people.” “Giving way to a modern republic.”

“Ah, I see.” The road crowned the hill “Ah, but a republic that you blame your
and the Fat Pasha paused. Below them, the father for helping to create.”
Golden Horn emptied into the Bosphorus,
cutting Istanbul in three. On the opposite “I don’t–”
shore, past the squat shoreline buildings
with their red roofs, rose the skyscrapers of “You see, my little Sultan, everyone fights
Taksim. for what they believe in. Me and my com-
patriots were trying to preserve our culture,
Across the Bosphorus, Anatolia stretched our lifestyle. We were fighting for our na-
out to the embryonic capital at Ankara and, tion, our very identity. In his own way, your
past that, flowed with the Eurphrates and grandfather was too. There could only be
the Tigris into Syria and Iraq and Babylon; it one Turkey and you were either Turk or you
rose up to the snow-capped peaks of Mount were not, and if you were not, well...”
Ararat before drifting down into Christian
Armenia and Georgia; it rode with the silk “I suppose you’d say the same for my fa-
traders into Samarkand, Rey, even as far as ther.”
Xanadu.
The pasha nodded. “Your father fought
And on the hills under Sultan’s own feet, for what he believed in.”
the exposed bones of ancient Byzantium
and Constantinople were hastened in their Sultan didn’t need him to finish. It had
unsteady decay by a shoddy patchwork of been the same for a hundred years. You were
masonry and hüzün. either Turk or you were dead. It had been
the same at the beginning of the century,
Sultan and the Fat Pasha looked out when the first pasha and the Ottomans tried
over all of this, feeling it, but not recog- to annihilate the Armenians, it had been
nizing what they were feeling. “The Turkish the same during the new republic, when his
people,” the Fat Pasha said, “they are chil- grandfather and the new modern govern-
dren. They do not know what is best for ment drove off the Greeks and cleansed the
them. Women’s rights, secularism, educa- Kurds, and it had been the same later and
tion, these are good things, right? Even I later, again and again, when his father had
know this. Do you think Turkey could have attempted to purge the country of the Kurds
advanced so quickly if left up to the will of and the Alevi and nearly everyone else. Sul-
the people?” The Fat Pasha licked his lips. tan’s education had come through whispers
“Even the Ottomans knew this. Look what and gossip at the Grand Bazaar before he
happened to us when we gave the people lost his job. Kurd, Kazleri, Jew, Alevi, and a
too much power.” dozen others, Sultan had sold to them all,
and the foreigners besides. But when the
“That had nothing to do with the people,” Wolf came back, all of that changed. Then
Sultan said. “Just your own arrogant pride.” it was you should not sell to Kurds and you

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

see her nose, she is surely Kazleri, I spit on weighing down on him. Fighting against
Kazleri. Soon the Skinny Pasha showed up that, pushing back...how could he? Maybe
and then the Fat Pasha and it was all Sultan that was what had made him miserable all
could do to suppress the voices in his head this time. Maybe his great-grandfather was
instructing him how to be a Good Turk and right. It would be easy, after all, to accept
how to make his forefathers proud. who he was, who the pashas wanted him
to be. To stop struggling.
“We want what is best for Turkey,” the
Fat Pasha said, drawing Sultan back to the Relief.
present, “and that means what is best for
you. You are a strong Turk, good blood, Finally.
the right religion, from my strong line,” he
pounded his chest, “you have all the advan- He could—
tages, you just have to take them.” But at that moment, the speakers on the
minaret of the mosque cut into life and the
Sultan and the Fat Pasha stood on top iman’s voice shattered the air.
of the hill next to the mosque. The street And Sultan felt his mind being torn apart
buzzed with beat-up mopeds bombing with it.
up and down, delivering food, delivering
people, delivering news. Sultan felt the
weight of a hundred years of struggle

About the Author

Edward Mack received a Fulbright Grant to Turkey in 2010 and taught at Erzincan University.
Soon after, he earned his master’s degree in creative writing from Complutense University
of Madrid. He has written for various small publications and published his first novel in 2016.

44

SIREN SONG

by Elizabeth Gauffreau

Galen did not think to check the gas gauge would be sitting at the supper table eating
when he made his final exit from the park- meatloaf and listening to the news from the
ing lot of the Bay View Apartments. He left TV in the living room. When the phone rang,
Ocean View with nothing but the clothes on his father would lay down his fork and raise
his back, the cast on his foot, and a three- his finger–wait, don’t answer it, we need to
day supply of painkillers in his shirt pocket. see who it is first.
How convenient, he thought, to have bro-
ken his foot and his heart at the same time. Galen hung up the phone and started
That should work out just about right. After back to his car. When he was halfway there,
one day, his foot would stop throbbing, and he realized that his bladder hurt almost as
another two should be enough to ease the much as his foot; he had not been to the
pain of his heart. bathroom since he was at the hospital
waiting to have his foot x-rayed. He stum-
He pulled into a Shell station outside bled to the cashier’s office to get the key
of Richmond and turned the engine off. to the men’s room, but when he reached
Opening the car door, he swung his legs it and saw a step, he started to cry. If he
outside, gingerly, so as not to bump his foot. stepped up with his right foot, the pain
He eased his wallet out of his back pocket would drop him to the pavement in an in-
to check his money and discovered that he stant. If he stepped up with his left foot, he
had set out on a trip of eight hundred miles would lose his balance and fall and break
with nothing but two dollars in his wallet. something else. Yet if he continued to stand
He didn’t even have his credit card; Tina there crying helplessly, he would piss his
must have taken it. pants and have to sit on the vinyl seat of his
car in wet jeans for hours while he tried to
Well, then, he would call his parents figure out how he was going to put gas in
and ask them to wire him some money. the tank with no money.
They were used to it by now. He got out of
the car and hopped to a phone booth. (He A man wearing a faded Shell uniform ap-
had left the crutches lying in the parking lot peared in the doorway, a cigarette balanced
of the Bay View Apartments.) He placed a on his lower lip. “What’s the problem?” he
collect call and listened as the phone rang said. “You need to pay for your gas?” He put
unanswered. They probably knew who it out his hand. “Here, I can take it from you.”
was–his calls must have a unique Galen ring
by now–and decided not to answer it. They Galen shook his head. “I didn’t buy any
gas.”

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The man dragged on his cigarette. “You off a cold chill. A wind had come up sud-
didn’t? Why not?” denly, blowing the cut pieces of his pant leg
against his skin. A Coke can clattered across
“I don’t have any money. For God’s sake, the blacktop. He climbed into his car and
I need to use the men’s room!” put the key in the ignition but stopped him-
self from turning it. There was no point in
“So use it. The door ain’t locked.” The getting back on the highway and driving ten
man disappeared back inside. or fifteen miles to run out of gas and sit by
the side of the road with no plan.
Galen stumbled to the men’s room,
shoved the door open, and made it to the He turned the key, hoping for a spark
toilet in time. As he was washing his hands, of inspiration as the engine leaped to life.
he wondered how it would be when he got The car refused to start, the starter grinding
to Berlin. He had not been back to New stubbornly. After more grinding and some
Hampshire since he left home the second whining, the engine finally started, and
time, a year ago. His parents would not be Galen had his plan. He would get back on
happy to see him. the highway, take the exit to the nearest
airport, and abandon the car in the parking
He opened the men’s room door and lot. Then he would call his parents and keep
hobbled back to the phone booth to try calling until they couldn’t stand the noise
their number again. This time a man’s voice any longer and picked up the phone and
answered in French: “Allo, Claude ici,” and bought him a plane ticket.
Galen dropped the receiver. His father was
answering the phone in French! Ever since As the car rolled down the exit from the
he started high school, his parents had Shell station, the rain started, crashing onto
spoken English at home. For all he knew, the windshield in a solid sheet, cascading
they had been speaking in French behind over the hood, sluicing across the pave-
his back all these years. He grabbed the ment. Galen coasted to the side of the road.
swinging receiver. “Dad? Dad?” But his He could have kept driving, even though he
father had hung up. When he tried the couldn’t see, but the car had stalled, and
number again, it rang unanswered. nothing was going to make it start again
until the rain stopped.
He felt the tears welling up again. He had
to get some money. He didn’t even have He looked out the window. Sitting in the
enough gas to turn around and go back to stalled car, the water only inches from his
Norfolk. As he pulled the door of the phone face, he felt as though he had been pushed
booth open, he had a thought: If he was less into the deep end of a swimming pool, sud-
than two hours from Norfolk, he could just denly realizing when he hit the water and it
call Tina and have her bring him his Mas- slammed into his nose and forced his eye-
terCard. It was the least she could do, after lids open to confront the blue and green
every­thing. He dropped his quarter back and white choking him that he did not know
into the slot for a collect call. She answered how to swim.
it on the second ring, refused to accept the
charges, and hung up. When he tried the *
number again, he got a busy signal.
After graduating from high school, Galen
As he left the phone booth and headed left New Hampshire for the University of
back to his car, he shuddered, shaking

46

Revista Literária Adelaide

Miami to become a marine biologist, like Galen looked around the lecture hall.
Jacques Cousteau. He had gotten A’s in bi- Most of the students were taking notes at
ology all through school, and, more import- a leisurely pace, a term here, a definition
ant, he had grown up speaking French. He there, their demeanor as casual as their
had never seen the sea, but he knew what it faded tee-shirts and baggy shorts. Some
would be like: blue and green and shimmer- were asleep. Others were nearly so, as small
ing, with brightly-colored creatures swaying tape recorders spun on their desks.
and darting in the clear bright water. As he
drove down Route 95 in the suffocating hu- Galen raised his hand, and when B. Hayes
midity that August, with his clothes and bed- didn’t call on him, he stood up. “When do
ding and stereo piled in the back of his car, we get to marine biology?”
he could see himself and Jacques together
on the bow of Calypso, returning from the The definitions stopped moving, and B.
open sea triumphant with discovery. Hayes looked around the hall. In a voice
louder than his lecturing voice, he said,
When he arrived in Miami, the water “Who?”
was as clear and blue and sparkling as he
had expected, and each day after his classes “We,” Galen said. “Us.”
were over, he walked on the beach, mar-
veling at the contrast between the ocean “This class?” B. Hayes said. “This is Gen-
stretching before him and the Androscoggin eral Biology. You don’t get marine biology in
River he had left behind in Berlin. The An- General Biology.”
droscoggin had once provided passage for
logs from Erroll to the paper mills in Berlin “Well, that’s my major, and I want to
and Groveton; it still provided their outlet know when I’m going to start studying it.”
for waste, the contaminants swirling silently
downstream, bisecting the city into East B. Hayes turned back to the overhead
and West Sides. projector and said over his shoulder, “You
study marine biology in Introduction to Ma-
After his first few weeks in Miami, he rine Biology.”
began poking in the sand and the water
for marine life he could study as he walked “But I want to start studying my major
along the beach, but all he ever found were now.”
jellyfish, as shapeless and boring as empty
plastic bags. One day, shortly after midterms, B. Hayes whirled around, his face above
he found himself sitting in his BIL 111 class his scrubby beard stained pink. “You don’t
with his notebook open in front of him, his have a major now. You will have a major
pen in his hand, wondering why he couldn’t only if you pass this class and if you pass
make his hand write any of the instructor’s chemistry and if the department accepts
lecture in the notebook. As he lectured, the you to begin with!”
instructor, a ‘B. Hayes’, cranked a series of
definitions across the overhead projector: Galen didn’t say anything as the stain
amoebocyte, annelid, Arthropoda, Aves, seeped from B. Hayes’ face. Then he bent
cephalization, Cephalochordata, chordate, down and gathered up his notebook and
clitellum, cnidaria, coelancanth. text. “I’m going to have to think about this,”
he said and left the hall.

He thought about it all through his next
class and all through supper and all that
night. He did not go to the beach.

47

Adelaide Literary Magazine

The next morning he called his parents though her face were a museum exhibit, in-
from the dorm. “Dad,” he said, “I have to teresting because there was nothing better
come home. I’m strung out on drugs.” He to look at, but nothing to get excited about.
went on to say something about peer pres- She snapped the compact shut and stood
sure. He loaded his clothes and stereo and up, but instead of leaving the room, she
bedding into his car and drove back up 95 picked up her styrofoam cup and sat down
the way he had come, making it as far as across from Galen. “Hi, Galen. How about
Connecticut before running out of money you buying me another cup of coffee?”
and calling his parents to wire him some
more. He looked at her. Up close, she looked
about twenty; she was pretty and smelled
He met Tina a month later at the Andro- of cigarettes. He couldn’t place her. “How
scoggin County Medical Center, where he about you buying me a cup of coffee?” he
had gone with his parents to visit a cousin said to buy himself some time.
of some sort, who was recuperating from
gall bladder surgery. While his parents set- She smiled. Her lipstick had worn off,
tled in to listen to the details of the surgery, leaving a faint rim of pink around her mouth.
Galen headed downstairs to the cafeteria, “Sure, Galen, why not.”
which was empty except for a bored-
looking woman by the cash register and a She bought the coffees, carried them
girl wearing a black sweater drinking coffee to the table, and went back for a handful
from a styrofoam cup. Galen bought himself of creamers and sugar packets. “You don’t
a soggy danish and sat down at a small table remember me, do you?” she said, stirring
by the window. sugar into her cup.

His future, he thought, did not look good. Galen hesitated, reaching for a creamer,
He was back in Berlin, living with his parents, then left the coffee black. Blowing on it, he
rammed up against the bottom of a cliff in shook his head, rather than tell her no out-
their musty old house on the East Side. He right.
did not have a job, nor any prospects for
one. His father had tried to find him some- “We went to school together. You gradu-
thing, but no one was hiring. Since he had ated last June.” She poured another packet
quit without finishing a single course, he of sugar into her coffee. “I was a year ahead
could not even qualify as a genuine college of you, but I dropped out in the eleventh
dropout. grade.”

He chewed on the danish and looked Galen nodded. He remembered her now.
out the window. If he had to stay in Berlin In school, her hair had been a different
much longer, the discharge from the mill color–blond–and longer. The talk around
would surely eat away his lungs and rot his school was that she had become pregnant
brain, and he would die. He looked back and dropped out to marry the father, a
into the room to see if the girl in the black logger from Groveton. Galen looked at her
sweater was still there. She had pushed ring finger, which was bare, but he knew he
her cup to one side and was looking at her- couldn’t always go by that. “We didn’t have
self in a small mirror. She looked into the any classes together.”
mirror steadily, without touching herself, as
“No,” she said. “I heard you were going
to college in Florida. You’re not going back?”

48


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