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Fiction
Fiction
Red Sky At Night
But as it happened, the first pitch, Red’s special, laden with spit and tobacco juice, zigzagged its way home. Just as it reached the pink-flowered flour sack, it curved like a martin changing directions. Any real ballplayer would have known it was outside by a mile. But Sammy Dan reached for it — a slow, easy stroke with the air of a man taking a leisurely stretch upon rising the day after the crops are in — and sent the ball heavenward.
December 1990Fiction
The Apple
Late at night I heard a scream. Ivan was shaking me violently. “Father’s dying!” he shrieked. It was pitch-black in the room. I sprang out of bed, and both of us ran to our parents’ bedroom. “Where’s Mother?”
December 1990Fiction
He Wears Black
I am a German man. That is clear. But I am born in the year 1955. Ten years after the war is over and so, I am having nothing to do with that war. I am part of the new people in Germany.
November 1990Fiction
Driving Home
Leaving one son; going toward the other. Ted and I take turns driving, three hours each. My break comes at lunchtime. Then I can sit in the car and count the hawks in the sky.
November 1990Fiction
The Rehearsal
Her lips, loose and larger without dentures, move up and down in a pace that suggests more words are coming, but then, they stop. She has, I think, forgotten what she wanted to say. I don’t know what to do in these silent spaces between now and never again.
November 1990Fiction
Occupied Territories
My anticipation was high. Life picks up when she’s around. I remember what I went to college for. With her, my brain gets buzzing again. I had been saving up all the garbage of my life for her to hear so I could get it sorted out.
November 1990Fiction
The Dancing Master Of Kung Fu
Everything was suddenly vibrant with rich hues of singing color. The faces of the monks were radiantly beautiful. It was as if his eyes had been washed clean for the first time.
November 1990Fiction
Punctilio
The white-haired man sat alone at a table in the crowded airport cafeteria, eating a doughnut and taking an occasional drink from a small carton of milk.
November 1990Fiction
Four Stories
One day the cocoon hatched. But there was no butterfly. Instead, hundreds and hundreds of baby praying mantes spread across my dresser top and marched down the side.
October 1990Fiction
He Thought He’d Died And Gone To Heaven
I turned my head slowly to sneak a look at Mary, Annie, and Millie. They were staring intently at their dominoes, their lips pursed tightly together. It was clear to me that they had not told Ray he was dead.
October 1990
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