Early one April morning, in the year 1905, Herschl Schenkman, a soldier in the army of the Tsar, ran out from behind a thick clump of meadow grass onto the dirt country road between Pinsk and Brest-Litovsk. He stood for a moment blinking in the sun. The run from the meadow had been uphill, and Herschl felt exhausted when he was out on the road again. Only fifteen minutes before he had been walking hurriedly along that road, with his head bowed forward, but in looking up once he fixed his eyes upon a think column of men, moving around a bend in the turf, some five hundred yards ahead.
Quisque id ante a leo lacinia cursus vel quis dui. Fusce tempor eros eget faucibus placerat. Ut eleifend quam quam, a sagittis lacus dignissim nec. Maecenas ornare nisi in dignissim iaculis. Morbi tempus eu ante vel bibendum. Donec a sem semper, placerat risus at, bibendum lectus. Etiam aliquet augue nec feugiat aliquet. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Nunc fringilla purus felis, eu luctus mi finibus nec. Quisque placerat tellus ac lacus feugiat, quis pulvinar eros suscipit. Curabitur sagittis sem non augue sagittis pretium.
"Disco Frito" is a work of fiction. Some of these stories were told to me and, perforce, became fiction in the act of retelling them. Some happened to me or my friends, and when I think of them again they are as fiction.
Fiction is one of the metaphors we have for experience. Except for certain public an historic figures mentioned herein, all the characters in this collection are fictional, including the principal narrator, Rik. Any resemblances to persons living or dead is strictly a coincidence.
TRAVIS GETS A JOB
This all started happening to me sems to me musta been a long time ago, in the winter, my first in New York City, maybe two years ago. More. There was still a war.
It was cold and snowy. Filth everywhere. Just like now. I didn't have any love in my life. To speak of. No love at all, and nobody to care for. Just very little self-respect.
Worse than my Christmas year before with the dog. When Junior and I didn't have any place to stay.
A tongue-in-cheek spy thriller set on the island of Jamaica.
Sed semper enim vitae urna interdum cursus. Pellentesque ullamcorper, tortor ut maximus condimentum, enim nisl ultricies odio, sit amet volutpat justo ante eu metus. Praesent suscipit viverra odio, interdum fringilla nunc hendrerit porttitor. Suspendisse nec libero eget leo interdum tempus. Vestibulum sapien enim, rutrum vitae dignissim eget, maximus nec ipsum. Proin eget ante at ligula elementum condimentum ac nec metus. Proin placerat commodo mi, id pharetra leo faucibus vitae. Aenean vestibulum quis nunc ut venenatis. Sed suscipit sit amet massa eu luctus. Nulla congue sem mi.
A short story that appeared in Rosh Ha-Shono, Fall 1972.
FABLE 1: The Show Must Go On
We played three or four neighborhoods in Brooklyn, a country house along the Jersey SHore, a number of relative parties, occasional requests from The Clients: Fredi & Shirl & The Kids. A family. Straight! Like a jab. Everybody on the block knew us. Some were more or less like us. Intimacies as crass as a grab, or a poke. A straight family type affair.
A miracle. Fredi & Shirl, Bennett & Richard, all the same flesh: a lawyer, a housewife, an older brother. Hey, what about me?
"You write (have written?) to tell me that my late uncle, the former Belas Yagodah (changed to James) is my benefactor through his estate in Merton, Ohio, of which you, in New York (sic) are the principal executor.