There was only time on the farm, where the best of life was lived quietly, where nothing happened but a calm journey through the day, where change was imperceptible and precious life was everything. ‘…beautifully poetic and visual and poignant.’ Ian Rankin https://www.scottishartstrust.org/sheena-cook
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She pulls me home, though, my country. She pulls me back to stand on the hill where I watched my father cut barley under the midday sun all the way through to the harvest moon.
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Zofija took a plum from the fruit bowl on the bar and tested her thumbnail against it. How much pressure before the skin gave? —Nope. Have to present myself back at the police station again next week. —What a nightmare having to go and plead with that Pole-hating policeman, Brenda said. The plum skin gave way and Zofija’s fingernails filled with orange-yellow fruit flesh. —Brenda, she said, squeezing until she reached hard stone, you have no idea. Brenda took the plum away and washed Zofija’s hand with a warm cloth.
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“I wanted this boy to watch Lolita, to show him what verbal adventures a native Russian speaker could have with another language, but I stopped myself. The boy might think I was sending a message, Lolita in reverse; an older woman with designs on a male nymphet. What would that be? A nymphoma? Sounds like […]
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“I will be requiring brief but unfettered access to your husband, I will say to your wife. She will follow me to your bedroom door and before I close it on her, I will say, Kindly bring us, in one hour, two pink gins and an ashtray. Leave them outside the door.”
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Victor put his spoon down. ‘Malcolm. Do you have someone waiting for you at home while you work up here?’ The question came from nowhere and I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t have a wife, if that’s what he was asking. And I couldn’t be sure whether Jack would still be there waiting for […]
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