Protesters waved placards outside the museum, where civilization had memorialized ancient barbarism. Others might march against climate change or corrupt politicians; these, disgusted by the indignities inflicted for so long on the indigenous, demanded that the aborigine’s bones should not… Continue Reading
Sometimes there’s a moment so quiet right after the exhaled breath when there is no breath, and an interval between two lives is suddenly bridged. My name is William, Wendell or Wallace. I’m not sure which. At this moment, it… Continue Reading
“Papa’s walking around the garden with his eyes closed again.” Elyse thanks Marianne and hurries outside. “Lazare! You must keep your eyes open. It’s the only way your seeing will get better.” “There’s so much to look at. Sometimes I… Continue Reading
…and it should have been Kokura, but it was overcast, though it was cloudy here, too, but not cloudy enough, so by the time I returned home from business, it was all gone, everything, and like so many others, I… Continue Reading
The man who was shot in the head goes to church on Sunday mornings. His name is George Marcovici, but to his friends and family, he is the captain. George is a neighborhood legend in Antim, Bucharest, with his soft… Continue Reading
You can’t know darkness until you’re trapped deep in a mine, on the wrong side of the tangle of rock and timbers blocking you in with your crew. After the thunderous wave of dust and panic settled, half a dozen… Continue Reading
They took him to a monastery to escape the noose, a sunless cathedral far from his family. Inside, the monks stripped him of his cloak, his rings, and anything that might have signified his membership of the aristocracy. They shaved… Continue Reading
Texon, Texas was in southwestern Reagan County 319 miles east of El Paso. Oliver made the drive in about seven hours in his 1929 Model A pickup, stopping once to refuel. He was early for his interview, so he parked… Continue Reading
April 30th, 1972 I came home. It wasn’t the warm welcome that I had expected. What I expected was the abundance of romance and cheering that my father had told me about after he returned home from Germany at the… Continue Reading
“I hate funerals,” I whisper. “Who don’t, boss?” Ah, Lomax. In his 5’2”, motheaten glory, he’s doughy as flapjacks and almost as aware. “Assassins, morticians, beneficiaries of juicy wills, and we other lowly disciples of greed and grift. At least,… Continue Reading