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Chapter 3

Jesse Lee Kercheval Indiana University Press ePub

The fall before they died, my husband and daughter had been in a short film my husband made with his silent film class called The Magic Tree. Besides studying and writing about old films, my husband used the antique movie cameras he collected to have his classes at the college try their hand at a short silent film or two. In The Magic Tree, the first title card explains:

After his family is killed in a railroad accident, a man wanders without hope.

In the opening shot, he is walking through a deep forest with his few precious family mementoes in a sack. The man is my husband, made up with his eyes so wildly corked in, so dark, he looks like he had spent his grief in a coal mine. The film is dark, grainy black and white. I remembered my husband complaining about the difficulties he had shooting it. The late fall sun in Indiana had barely been up to the task of lighting the old-fashioned, insensitive film stock he used for reasons of authenticity. The class time had made for a late shooting schedule. My daughter had complained about how cold it had been in the woods in her thin cotton costume.

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B.J. Hollars Break Away Book Club Edition ePub

Once a boy drowned at a summer camp. This was June of 1968. It was early evening, a dinner of fried chicken and green beans already breaking down inside the boys’ bellies, and as their counselors shouted numbers to the sky (“98 . . . 99 . . . 100!”), the campers hid, determined not to be found in the all-camp game of hide-and-seek.

More determined than most, ten-year-old Bobby Watson slipped away from his bunkmates and wandered toward the floating docks on the shores of Blackman Lake. He blocked the sun with his hand, allowing his eyes to refocus on the best hiding spot of all. There, glistening at the edge of a dock, was a Kenmore refrigerator. It was powder blue, round-topped, complete with silver handle. Bobby—smitten perhaps by the peculiarity of a refrigerator in such a strange locale—headed toward it.

Bobby knew as well as everyone else that the waterfront was off-limits to campers except during open swim. The head lifeguard—a broad-shouldered, sunburned man—had made this abundantly clear on the first night of camp (“You do, you die”). But it was a game of hide-and-seek, after all, and Bobby, a boy who wanted simply to hide, convinced himself to duck beneath the peeling fence. He jogged toward the fridge, peeking behind him to make sure he hadn’t been spotted. He hadn’t. No sign of him except for footprints in the sand.

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A.J. Sebastian SDB Laxmi Publications PDF


Love and Conflict in Easterine Kire’s

Life on Hold

The anonymous adage, “Sacrificing your happiness for the happiness of the one you love is by far the truest type of love,” is central to the emotional relationship between the protagonists in Easterine Kire’s (1959 - ) Life on Hold. The story surrounds the life of childhood friends Roko and Nime during the most critical years of insurgency in

Nagaland during the 1980s.

The opening of the novel referring to the children wrestling is central to the various movements in the story which is ultimately a continuous wrestling to establish relationships. “They tumbled over and over in the short grassy slope, sky and earth revolving round them until it was all just a whirr. Roko came to a stop first, and then

Setuo and finally Nime. She usually wound up last” (Kire 1). As the story concludes, it is Nime who winds up her emotional life, kept on hold for about two decades. When

Nime, Roko and Setuo were seven years old, it used to be a regular game among them to wrestle in the neighbouring woods. Since Setuo was bigger in size, the match used to be between Nime and Roko. Roko being very quick and agile used to dash the girl down most of the time. However, on some occasions she had the upper hand which made Roko fume with rage to push her down. Once it happened that she had downed him badly, making him very sullen and mum. Roko refused to talk to her while at school the following day. Setuo brought message to Nime that Roko wanted to wrestle with her that evening to patch up his ego problem. The message was clear : “I’ll meet you two in the wood” (3). They met at the usual place in the wood where they wrestled.

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31: Alice

Abdourahman A. Waberi Indiana University Press ePub



IF YOUR BODY germinates and swells, if your heart pounds like the surf, what could be more normal? I push the rumpled sheet away with my hand; I crush the doubt that assails me under my heel. I seek in vain the heat of his body. I can sense his smell floating through the room; I still have the taste of his sweat in my mouth. I resonate with him with every fiber in my body; my skin spontaneously catches fire at his contact. I curl up with love inside his arms. Hold your breath; repeat without opening your mouth “I'm so happy!” Suddenly I can see the world with the eyes of the heart. Every second is an eternity; I flame with a joy I cannot hide. My head is resting on his lower belly, which goes up and down with the rhythm of his peaceful breathing. The two tips of my breasts are delightfully compressed by his shins. With one hand, I stroke the light moss of his ebony hairs, watching the dark honey of his eyes from the corner of mine. With the other hand, I stroke my sex wet and hot as burning spices. I hold my breath to prolong the exquisite moment.

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Red Star: A Utopia

Alexander Bogdanov Indiana University Press ePub

Letter from Dr. Werner to Mirsky

Dear Comrade Mirsky,

I am sending you Leonid’s notes. He wanted them published, and you, as a man of letters, can arrange that matter better than I. He himself has gone into hiding. I am leaving the clinic to try and trace him. I think I shall probably find him in the mountains, where the situation has lately become critical. By exposing himself to the dangers there he is evidently indirectly trying to commit suicide. He is obviously still unstable mentally, although he impressed me as being near complete recovery. I shall inform you the moment I learn of anything.

My warmest regards,

N. Werner

24 July 190? (illegible: 8 or 9)



It was early in that great upheaval* which continues to shake our country and which, I think, is now approaching its inevitable, fateful conclusion.

The public consciousness was so deeply impressed by the events of the first bloody days that everyone expected a quick and victorious end to the struggle. It seemed as though the worst had already occurred, that nothing more terrible could possibly happen. No one had realized how tenacious were the bony hands of the corpse that had crushed and still crushes the living in its convulsive embrace.

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