Nguyen Van Ty was a peaceful man. He’d arrived at the small village in Tonkin many years ago. Apparently from nowhere. Some of the villagers said he had a Saïgon accent, others assured he came from the Imperial city of Hué. He was dressed as a peasant, but his manners, his education, his delicate hands…
“Doc! Doc”! “What’s the matter, Raphaela? We’ll never finish on time if you keep interrupting!” “Sorry Doc, we have an emergency. The Boss is coming down to the Lab. In five minutes.” “Damn! How do you know?” “Gabby called me. And she says the Boss is in a bad mood. Very. So we’d better…
Originally posted on Equinoxio:
I needed to escape. The memories and the pressure were… too much. I’d come back to Nairobi from a tough assignment, covering civil unrest (PC for hidden-under-the-carpet civil war) in the north of Kenya, spending weeks in the bush. I’d been trying to get an interview with the rebel chief, whom,…
I needed to get dressed for that party the Philosopher had invited me to. And, of course, I had nothing to wear. Please do not smile my reader friend. That is always a delicate matter. The little black dress (Oh Tiffany! Oh, Givenchy!) is of course, always a possibility. But no. Too easy. I wondered…
The seagulls glide and glide over the waters. Hundreds of them. Gliding and flying effortlessly. Catch the wind. Glide a while. Then a swift stroke of a wing and glide again. Stewart is probably up there. I can’t make him out. Too many seagulls in the air. And too many ships in the waters! Reminds me…
Encontré el espejo en una venta de Bazar Navideño, en Coyoacán. De estas ventas que organizan las esposas de los amigos, y que moralmente, no puedes fallar. El Bazar contaba con lo mismo de siempre: los arreglos navideños, los adornos gringos o chinos importados a precio de oro, los manteles bordados, cachivaches en verde…
Necesitaba escapar. La presión del periódico me tenía agotado. Acababa de regresar de una media guerra civil en el Norte, pasando quince días en el “Bush”, para conseguir una entrevista con el jefe rebelde, que obviamente el Gobierno insistía en calificar de “Shifta”: bandido. Apenas había entregado mi artículo, y ya me querían mandar al…
