Fiction
After “Night March”
This is from a story I “wrote” in 1998, when I was sixteen. I say “wrote” because I interpolated a chapter from Tim O’Brien’s Going After Cacciato, changing the names …
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Chez l’arabe
It was the year of our tenth anniversary when Antoine and I separated. I stayed in the house and he occupied a loft in Old Montreal, an outdatedly slick place …
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The Betrayers
A thousand kilometers away, while the next great drama of his life was unfolding and God was banging His gavel to shake the Judaean hills, Baruch Kotler sat in the …
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The Back of the Turtle
The man stood at the boundary of the beach, in the shadows of the hanging cedars, and listened to the heavy surf run in from deeper water. The beach pitched …
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Paradise and Elsewhere
No one can hear us and the room is plain, scarcely lit, warmed to the temperature of blood. I listen. I hear the way your voice rises or tightens or …
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Ultrasound
On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 representing “of no interest to me” and 10 representing “of maximum interest to me,” the rapes in my neighbourhood rated a …
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Who Will Water the Wallflowers?
The day before the flood, the girl slices lemons into a wide-mouthed Mason jar. She has been reading about storage devices in the sunroom. Jars will replace Tupperware, she reads, …
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Juno Pluvia
My cousin? Nile? Never mind, file him under “women’s troubles” and forget about him. We have other coronary matters to consider. For instance, the unnamed man who washed up on …
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