The Irish War
And not a shot was fired.
ASTOR & CHARLIE.
The kid. The maestro. The music.
Stay out of my face.
The stories collected on this page are all part of a collection now in progress that will be titled San Francisco. Each new story will be posted here as the collection is being written.
“Had he known better what she could do, Raul would have treated Corinth better. And at the moment he still didn’t know, despite the fact that he thought he was falling in love with her. He had been watching her this closely just for the previous three hours…their first learning-stage run-through of the play and, he thought, Love isn’t supposed to come on like a lightning strike, is it?“
“He had begun as a mime, becoming known when he was twenty for his appearances with his girlfriend Clarissa in Union Square. They would show up dressed alike in baggy white shirts, suspenders that held up baggy black slacks, and black and white Keds. In full make-up, all-clown white, and black berets, they would imitate passers-by, a talent for which Tommy became particularly known. If a corporate lawyer huffed by on his way to a difficult court appearance, Tommy would display the man’s grumbling wish to do harm, the audience laughing as he went.”
“Why are you here now? Why are you telling me this, when you could have shown up—”
“Years ago,” Buddy said.
“She missed the sea. She missed the sun. She even missed her bathing suit. But she suffered from what had happened in El Salvador, in ways the Pacific Ocean would barely be able to understand.”
“Reynaldo had hoped the novel would give him an opening to forgiveness.”
“Each one with some surprise, Ernesto. With a secret, a heart of some kind.” Erwin laughed. “Secretos.” His thin, dark face broadened with a smile. “Secrets. ¿No te rompen la cabeza? That’s like saying in English…like…something like ’Don’t they drive your heart crazy?’”