Fiction

In his lifetime Virgil became familiar as anyone with the history of dreams, saw in his palms an old man dreaming as he held them before his face and died. As he became one of the aged dead who sing in our sleep. "There was a man one time," Abigail would say, when Virgil was…

I The ghost of Raymondo Cruz leaned awkwardly against a far corner of the angled bedroom; by now Victor recognized that the mere slump of shoulders, the bending of wrinkled green slacks and a downcast skinny face signified nothing tragic; odds were high that Popps was only meditating, for no tears slid around; Victor, the…

The big bus wheeled up to the open gate and stopped. The doors hissed open. Larry looked both ways, took a deep breath, and swung the gleaming monster out into the heavy afternoon traffic. Here goes! he shouted silently. He headed for downtown, thinking, Oh Lord, I can't do it. I'll crash. Within fifteen blocks…

The characters in this work are meant to be real. References to persons living and dead are intended. Are there fifteen people in the world who will be afraid when they read this paragraph? No. That, in itself, is a comment on my insignificance. Are there fifteen people who will become uneasy on reading it?…

When she'd packed up the remains of the picnic lunch and gotten the twins settled in their carriage, Betty Meyers looked around for Bobby, her five-year-old. Squinting against the sun, she finally saw him 'way up the beach, playing with some French kids. "Bobby!" she yelled, but he pretended not to hear and she started…

Acts of mercy. Acts of love. Perry's winter ministry chilled him through. He could not help anyone. And he was getting fat, eating too much, exercising not at all. His sermons were stale. The words hung in the church, rippled up to the organist in the balcony, then died. The church smelled of dust. And…

On a Sunday morning in June, Paul and Judith finished cleaning their apartment, left the key in the mailbox, and drove across town to the house Paul had left on a gray and windy day last March. It was the first house his father had ever bought: a small yellow one with a green door,…

Baptized name, William; but in the main, except for when he was in the service, he can't remember being called anything else but Skeeter, no more than he can place when he started drinking so hard. Sometimes, though, this comes back to him: a summer night when he was maybe three or four, fishing for…

Willie Mae worked at the slaughter house slitting hogs' throats. From eight to six she stood with her knife and blood-spattered apron performing her task. Willie Mae was efficient. One sharp slash at the vital vein, one last shrill squeal from the hog and it was over. Bud picked her up at six in the…