No Birds Sing Here by Daniel V. Meier Jr

Author:Daniel V. Meier Jr. [Daniel V. Meier, Jr.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BQB Publishing
Published: 2021-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

Professor Leon Moskowski had been professor of Syrian Literature at Western State University for the past three years, and for the same period of time, an active member of the Polish-Jewish Anti-Defamation League. His wife, Honey, whom Hoss quickly dubbed “Honey Buns,” was a passionate collector of antiques, ranging from eighteenth-century whiskey bottles to Louis XIV furniture.

Professor Moskowski lamented, “She is now into antique cars, specifically a rebuilt Model A sedan. She’s already put ten thousand into it. My dear wife,” the professor said, patting Honey’s hand, “only wants to recreate the past. Don’t you, my child?”

Honey smiled. “Only what was good and grand about the past,” she said, in a voice ten years younger than she was. “I think it’s a worthwhile creation,” she said, looking toward Malany.

“Creation costs money. Malany can attest to that,” Beckman said. Malany was uncharacteristically embarrassed.

“And I still admire you for what you’ve done, Malany,” Honey said, gazing at Malany with her most sincere expression. She went on. “Deciding once and for all that you wanted to write poetry, and going out and doing it, wonderful. Have you had much published?”

Malany glowed as one unexpectedly gifted with the stigmata, and modestly acknowledged that some of her work had appeared in commercial publications and some in university publications. Honey flashed her “how nice” smile and the professor looked interested.

“Malany,” Honey continued. “If you would like to stay over for a few days . . . ” Honey waited for the effect of this to settle in. “You could go with us to Dr. Pointer’s poetry reading. He has this most marvelous little cabaret, decorated with paintings by local artists and, as I mentioned, every Saturday night, poetry readings. Oh, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” She smiled, bearing meat-stained teeth and red gums. “I could introduce you, and probably Pierre would like to have you read sometime.”

The professor nodded in agreement. “Yes, the well of local talent is quickly running dry. They need a little invigorating mongrel blood.” He laughed uproariously, spilling ash and sparks from his pipe.

“Could we hear a sample of your work?” Honey asked.

Malany opened the ever-present copy of her book and began to read from the selections that she had used for her last public reading. The professor and Honey listened with genuine interest as Malany beat out her feelings about the complexities of love and living, and finished within a tasteful half hour. The professor applauded. Honey went straight to the phone and started dialing.

“Malany,” the professor said,“Your work shows definite promise.”

From the phone, the voice of Honey began to dominate. “Pierre, I think you would be very impressed, she’s really good. Yes, as good as that. Oh, be a dove . . . I suppose I can endure it. See you then.”

Honey’s long, feminine fingers replaced the phone gently. She self-consciously walked, with hard steps, back to the group and took her former seat on the carpet next to her husband’s chair.

“Malany, you have to stay, at least until tomorrow night.

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