Sharky clapped him more gently this time. “Don’t get me wrong, mate! I’ve done time in the boneyard with your black brothers.” “I wasn’t one of the brothers,” Benton said. “I worked for the US government.” ... From the high-tech thriller Toxic Spirits (now in its second edition).
His mother has taught him that Heaven is a place with beautiful white pavilions and gardens with fruit trees and bubbling springs, where everything has its proper place. He gave up believing in it a while back ... From The Conquest of Kailash (available also in audio and in French).
Isabelle of the Islands. THE WAVES roll back to reveal an oyster-shaped land of green and gold, its turquoise lagoons lapped by palm-studded strips of sand that vanish into a dense jungle with hidden waterfalls and quiet pools nestling among groves of tacamahac and bamboo and latania. The jungle climbs and then falls away onto the slopes of a mountain range whose black cliffs are draped with vast curtains of creepers. On the far side of the mountains lie fields of waving sugarcane. A teenage girl in a white dress makes her way through the fields, balancing a pair of buckets lightly on a beam. Sweat drips down from under her bonnet. ... Commuter Lit
The Mausoleum. To be selected to tile the Mausoleum is a singular honor, as the Chief Architect made clear the day before. A huge Uzbek with a burly mustache, he leaned close and warned me that the King wanted the royal sarcophagi in the Mausoleum to be completed before the onset of winter, as his Consort could wait no longer.. ... Beneath Ceaseless Skies
Ponnian of the Elephants. We climb up the island’s sloping plain, past tall green fields of sugar-cane where the men are already hard at work with their sickles. Behind the fields are the mimosa-hedged avenues that lead to the red-roofed homes of the plantation owners and the chateau of my master the Surveyor. ... The Wild Umbrella
The Book of Alephs. I found Nasrullah in his usual spot in an alley behind the stationery bazaar in Old Delhi. He was a sprightly old man with a weathered face, wearing a thick sweater and a turban mounted with a silver broach, sitting perfectly straight with his fingers firmly grasped around the base of a shapely brass hookah ... Litbreak
The Station. ... Someone else was reciting a poem, about heaven and earth being united in one place. What intelligent company! That was the sort of society I wanted, to be among the ones who still valued art and culture. If I wasn’t in a hurry to find the money, I would have stopped and listened ... Different Truths
One of Us. I can see him clearly from my window, standing tall in the arena with his bodyguards, though I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Whatever it was, it excited a wild roar from the audience that boomed up through the loudspeakers to the 20th floor ... The Bookends Review
Last Rites. The sun was in their faces all the way back from the hospital. Ellen was driving, her eyes a pair of blue craters rimmed with red veins. She was biting her lip, as if trying hard not to scream – for Kris, who was lying in the ward in Bangkok on a ventilator ... Storgy
The Island Hereafter. ... The sunset yielded to a flurry of bats and a faint moon floating above the iodine-tinted water. In the church of Saint Sophia, the blue and gold icon stand was lit up by candles mounted along the old stone walls. The stranger lay in a plain casket with his throat covered ... Storgy
Translating Kun. When Koi visits her parents in their village in Isaan, she has nothing much to say. Her brother’s long legs still bear the scars of the irons he wore in prison. He doesn’t kick a football around any longer, preferring to sit and watch ants marching across the floor ... Apple Valley Review.
Onya: An Artist Not Forgotten. The Domedara Gallery is an excellent site for an Onya retrospective. The building has a defiant cosmopolitan elegance, its art deco façade a refreshing contrast to the tired wooden houses lining the road from Chiang Mai to Lampun. Photography is not allowed, but a colorful catalogue raisonné is available for 230 baht, on the left by the ticket window ... Eclectica
A Prayer for Gan4. Our village was up in the mountains at the edge of a coffee plantation. You could sit on a bench under a wooden gateway and see the rib-like ruts of terraced farms striping the hills coursing down to the border. Sometimes you could spot women climbing along the paths, carrying baskets of bright berries ... Eclectica
Khatoey. ... Mr. Gomez had tattoos on his arms and neck. He was peering at the laptop screen while shaking his bald head. I walked over to take a look. Sex-change khatoey slain in Chiang Mai, the web page said ... Asia Writes
Journal of the Rossignol Expedition to Yunnan. ... Poor pretty Paulette! Daughter of banker from Bolzano and Parisian society mistress, reared in an undistinguished residence in the 15e after her father died while climbing Kesselkogel in the Dolomites. First spotted her while waiting in line at a crêperie near the Musée d’Orsay, and immediately initiated conversation ... New World Writing
A Flag for Gulnaz. ... The fellow with the hairdo sprang free and lit a match before hopping out, dragging the tea boy after him. There was a whooshing sound as the petrol caught fire ... Asia Writes
A Drink of Water. Sometimes a man from within his sleep will thirst after a drink of water. This is not a bad thing in itself, given the dehydrating atmosphere of our modern, centrally-heated bedrooms; however, there are certain dangers inherent in the act, certain frightfully morbid possibilities, so it is best to remain forewarned ... 3:AM Magazine
Far Away from Here. ... I laughed to myself as she walked away. Then I wandered off into a grove of sea pines. The sand was soft and white, and I wanted to roll in it like a dog. Slow Trains
The Bull's Eye. ... When he first saw Clara, she had been smoking at a table, wearing a denim jacket with the collar turned up even though it was warm. She was from the north, a small town near Guadalajara ... Drunken Boat
Extreme Sports. ... She jerked at the bathrobe. The strap came off and fell on the tiles. The water splashed on her legs, and she cupped her hands and threw it over chest and face. ... WordRiot
The Ghosts of New Mexico. ... A stag leaped across the road, its eyes shining in my headlights, proud yet fearful. I watched it bound away, wishing it well on its path through the nocturnal world. A frail and wintry moon appeared suddenly above a hill to the south, illuminating the old mission at the Ranchos des Taos , and bathing the valley below in a milky glow ... Plum Ruby Review
Legacy. ... Uncle Krishna points to his own legs, the left one thin and twisted. “Legs are not essential for us, Shankar. The greatest journeys are taken in the mind.” ... Nimrod
Ice. ... Scruffy young Western tourists in beads and sandals lay stretched out on the floor, their faces sullen, as if India had promised them much but left them confused and weary. As Rafiq sat and watched them, his hand resting lightly on Monique’s knee, he recalled that each time he left, he’d felt the same twinge of regret ... Kimera
