translated by Rachel Morgenstern-Clarren Unpacking my suitcase, I realized, annoyed, that one of my green socks had been left behind at the beach. At the time, it must have fallen behind the pousada wardrobe, but by now, who knows if it hadn’t become a floor rag, a bag for screws, a flannel scrapto polish furniture?…
translated by Rachel Morgenstern-Clarren “Today we would have been married twenty-five years,” he said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. I didn’t react: I had jumped into a taxi on Nove de Julho Avenue. The traffic was terrible; we spent half an hour traveling to Faria Lima, and arrived at Pinheiros Street, all in…
The husband of this couple sitting on the opposite side of the booth is his wife’s work friend, more or less, probably more. For sure more. Drew doesn’t want to be here at this Saturday night dinner. But his wife, Chloe, informed him, “It’ll be good for you.” “Good how?” he’d asked. She repeated, louder,…
One summer ago, Hadley had woken me in the night. She was beside me in bed, and her smooth fingertips tickled my ribs. Her mouth was open slightly, her warm breath dampening my neck, my jaw line. I had swum in the lake that day and not showered afterward, and I imagined my skin tasting…
I had never been on TV before, and didn’t even pull a comb through my hair before I came out to face the cameras. As soon as the light came on I smiled, then begged the abductor—rapist, murderer—to turn himself in. My smile a gash across my face, I pleaded with anyone who might have…
In Hellensburgh there was a slaughterhouse and a bank. The post office closed at noon. The high school had five teachers and my uncle, a teacher, was the football club coach. Many of the schoolboys, thick-legged and silent, took up jobs in the slaughterhouse when they turned fifteen. The money was good. The boys would…
The hotel is ideally placed for business and pleasure, with the turnpike close at hand. An underpass gives access to a range of outlets. Across the fields is the faculty, bringing visitors from around the world. All find a welcome at The Pines. Mrs. Parfitt and I pride ourselves on it. I was born into…
South of Van, Kamal switches off the headlights. It’s superstition more than anything, but it makes me uneasy. “Are there checkpoints this far north?” I ask. He shrugs. “Possibly.” It’s supposed to be ten hours to Nusaybin, our destination, although that’s in a bus, by day. Not by night, without headlights, on our way to…
Sharon sells sex toys by the seashore. She drives her red convertible down the streets of Delray Beach, parks in front of the lemony condo off Ocean Boulevard. The lot is already full of convertibles, many with vanity plates: 2hot4U, hotMama2, and variations thereof. Inside, the snowbird ladies welcome her, their hair frosted and tufted,…
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