SHORT SHORT STORIES

ON BENDED KNEES

Everyday Father checks every square inch of our home before sunset.

With his right hand he holds the rigid pole that provides structural support.

The poles are made of wood. Father hand sawed each wooden peg with

edges uneven and slides his left hand on the pegs which gives the frame

stability. After the ropes he looks very closely at the pegs to prevent our

home from destruction. A woven shawl hangs on his shoulders and a six-

yard water-washed hand spun wraps around his one hundred and ten pound

frame.

On his forehead creases are folded into jagged layers, and his black thick

glasses amplified his penetrating eyes, parrot shaped nose, large defined

lips, and prominent ears.

"On bended knees we asked for bread and have received stone instead,"

cries Father as he kneels and grabs a hand full of sand and sprawls it in a

circle. Mother joins him with his routine and checks the canvas seams for

any tears. Father sighs with relief, unzips the cloth, and walks in with

Mother.

The floor is a type of groundsheet. It is a good waterproof barrier

between the ground and sleeping cots. The cots are pieces of iron soldered

and stacked. The wool and uneven blankets smell like moth balls. No

sheets or pillows but a wool blanket kept in moth balls. Father hacks

chucks of a mosaic tapestry leaving the seams loose. Mother

trips on the edges. Mother lights the kerosene lamp before we sit and share

the meal.

Mother brings our daily allotment of food. She stands in line with two

coconut bowls in hand. Everyone in line has a number pinned on them.

Mother’s number is on her sarong, and her number is scratched at the

plopping of the rice in her bowl. The food is

the same: rice and bread The rice is bland. No salt and watered down. The

flat bread is over-baked. When brother took the bread from the basked it

crumbled in pieces. After Mother encourages him to pick up the crumbs he

laps water as he spits. There is a small section in our home for bowls and

cups. Within that section Mother uses a huge bowl to wash four bowls and

four cups. There is no room for a fifth bowl and cup. Mother washes

clothes by hand using the large bowl. The bowl is also used for sponge

bathing.

Mother sponge bathes brother and sister quickly and dresses them. One

towel to dry. No pajamas.

The home has one opening and two air vents. One opening isan entrance

and the other to reduce the effects of swarming small slender biting flies.

Most of the time the vents are closed because of foul odors from moldy

decomposed material of all sorts.

Hundred of outhouses are scattered among the fifty acres of razor- sharp

barb wire. Men take buckets from the latrines into a cesspool. The women

clean up the compound. My sister was born in our house. Mother could

only nurse her for two months. Her round breast dried up liked prunes and

her menstruation ceased. She hides her breasts from Father, but he fondles

her whispering, "You are a jewel to me." Mother comforts and

rocks my brother and sister to soothe the constant tugging of hunger pangs.

My brother weeps and shivers as blades rotate rapidly about our house. My

sister runs to Father when the chopper illumines the house with spot-lights.

The rapping and tapping of the helicopters set the birds squealing. Father

peeks through the air-vents looking for boot strapping soldiers with sharp

bamboo spears. Mother only sees large birds with dark feathers and broad

wings roaming and white parachutes with large red crosses

dropping clothes, food, vitamins, and medicine.

"One day, I’ll have the courage to ask the commandant for Red Cross

supplies.

Quinine for chills and fevers and vitamins for beriberi, maybe some

chocolates." Mother thinks.

*********************************************

THE YEAR 2602

Days passed agonizingly slowly, and tensions were becoming almost

unbearable.

Grandfather stayed home all the time, and he and mother were never far

apart. Most of the neighbors were gone, taken by truck into concentration

camps. The avenue Grandfather and Mother lived on was deserted and

quiet. The only vehicles that passed were the trucks and jeeps used by the

soldiers. They checked daily on those people still living in their homes.

Heavy rain draped the house and pounded on the veranda. Large amount of

water spat on the boarded up windows. The monsoon gave gale force

winds and rain for days. When one huge whammy king tide wreaked havoc

and slammed the side of the rice plantation, the plantation became a lake

and the rice shoots floated to the muddy river. The rain water was running

through the ruts and closely by the door. A gasp swept across the

house and veranda while another king tide spun clockwise, chopping the

roof shingles into wood chips, dropping copper flashing, dumping large

amounts of water, and pitching a sound of a loud bang which startled

Grandfather and Mother out of sleep.

“The Japs are here.” Grandfather's face was very grim.

“No, Father that sound is the dumping of large amounts of water.” Mother

consoled him.

It was still early morning. Screams and yells and more pounding sent

Grandfather who was half dressed, scurrying up the cellar stairs to open

the front door. In a net pool thickly ingrained with dirt and soot stood two

Japanese soldiers with their rifles pointing straight at Grandfather.

“You hear? One hour! One suit-case only. Don’t be late,” barked the

officer shaking his bayonet in Grandfather's face. The officer was dressed

in khaki shirt and breeches and tall riding boots and over his shoulders

draped a black rain cape.

“Hurry. We are in charge,” screamed another soldier in Japanese at the top

of his lungs.

Then the soldier swaggered back down the drive. Grandfather’s face ashen,

closed the door and went down to the cellar. Mother packed cotton shirts

and shorts, toiletries, a few medical supplies, and a couple of photos.

Wilhelm clung to Grandfather's pants and followed every foot-step.

Grandfather rocked his body back and forth holding Ernestine

for hours at the time. The Javanese woman was hastily dispatched to fetch

the nuns who lived at the end of the avenue.

“Please, go to the end of the avenue and ask the sisters to take care of

Mother and the children.” Grandfather pleaded and filled her palm with

gold coins; but, before the Javanese woman could return, the truck that took

Grandfather away from Mother and the children roared into sight..

The men in the closed truck pushed one another aside to let Grandfather in.

It was full of grim-faced men packed in like sardines, and the truck was air

tight. Grandfather wiped off his tears with a corner of his shirt.

“By the order of the Japanese Imperial Army a railroad is to run through

the jungle." yelled a Jap dressed in baggy shorts down to his knees and

sloppy puttees over worn combat boots. The truck made many stops and at

every settlement the natives waved paper flags with a red ball; and

cheered, “Heroes, Heroes.”

“What does that the red ball represent?” a boy asked pressing against his

father.

“The sun.” his father replied.

From houses flew flags with the rising sun. The man squeezed next to

Grandfather grinned.

“I hate to see all those red ball flags.”

“Don’t look at them then,” said Grandfather crossly.

The next day the men were to ride a train. When the train finally came, the

Japanese soldiers sat in the two passenger cars while the men were pushed

into cattle vans with the doors tightly closed or onto an open tender behind

the steam locomotive. Embers of glowing coal burned holes into the towels

and smoke from the engine soon made the men look like stokers. At every

train stop, however, local vendors crowded the platform, but the soldiers

would shoo the vendors away with their bayonets, making raucous sounds.

The footsteps of the guards walking up and down sounded hollow and

eerie.

“Prisoners. We are prisoners,” Grandfather cried.

Grandfather couldn’t believe for a comfortable upper-middle-class

householder so used to going about and doing as he wished to would eat

from a can opened by a bayonet.

“Terrible,” a prisoner squatted and spat out the food.

“Eat it. You eat,” said the Jap. The soldier became irritated and slapped

the man. A camp dog from the side approached slowly from the side and

lapped up the food. 　

“Look! Your food is gone,” the soldier laughed and gave out a sound like a

dog’s howl.

The slaps, the pointed bayonets all brought the men up short. They shivered

when the soldiers pounced their right hand into the air with out-stretched

fingers. A group of soldiers approached when the locomotive stopped and

with their razor-sharp bayonets that are razor sharp pointed to the men and

motioned them out one by one and ordered them into a perfect line. A

ranking officer stopped and a squat little man dressed in an immaculately

pressed khaki uniform walked slowly. The uniform made him look even

rounder and shorter because of the big balloon like “wings” that stuck from

his trousers at the thighs. He wore a peaked cap that shaded his face. His

knee-high boots, polished to a shine, had hard soles that were loud and

impressive as he marched up to the men. The officer ran his left hand

through his wavy jet black hair and with his right hand placed his

three-cornered hat with a wide turned-up brim and placed it on it on his

head.

“You are to obey all orders. You are to attend roll-call when called, and

when ordered.

“Kiray,” you are to bent towards Japan to the Japanese Emperor. When the

soldier calls.”

“Nowray,” you are to stand at attention. You are to bow to every soldier as

a sign of respect. Doing so incorrectly will result in punishment. You are

not worthy to look into a soldier’s eyes,” the officer said, loudly clicking

his hard soles.

“You will be taken by trucks into a men’s camp. Anyone who is caught

leaving will be shot on sight." The officer took a bayonet from his soldier

and thumped the bottom on the ground.

“Speak Malay not Dutch or English. The year is 2602, Japanese calendar.

Not 1942." yelled the officer.

**************************************************

THE WEDDING BED OF SAM AND SUZANNA

The moon is full above Susanna’s cottage. Her cottage white with pink trim

shines brightly in the neighborhood. The trim is covered with carvings

depicting dancing butterflies with big colorful wings. A lush hunter green

lawn surrounds the white and pink cottage. Susanna's neighbors

compliment the manicured lawn and trimmed evergreens. Along a white

picket fence baby's breath and large ferns sprawl neatly. A patch of white

daisies, yellow sun-flowers, red-tulips, and pink colored roses were

nestled in fitful splendor. Susanna spend hours tending the garden and

maintenance. Three or four times per week her boyfriend Sam visits and

they sweetly rock on a type of swing love seat holding hands and exchange

a kiss or two. Susanna and Sam met two years ago at a home and garden

festival, and the relationship developed slowly into a real love affair.

Tonight, Sam has a surprise.

Susanna showers and perfumes her body. She sooths her skin with a lotion

made from almonds. She looks in the mirror and powders with Jean Nate, a

French cosmetic. A little dab here and a little dab there of jasmine.

Dancing to the mirror in a dance type step she finds her silhouette pleasing.

Hanging in her full-size closet is her dress for the evening, a

casual summer dress with spaghetti straps. She slips on the dress and

walks to the armoire and puts on make up in detail. Hair in a twist and a

pink comb on top to hold her long locks together. Outlining her full lips she

carefully adds another color combining red lipstick with a pink outliner.

The phone rings and a pleasant voice whispers, " Hello, my sweetheart.

Baby, tonight is special. My love, within thirty minutes our lips meet with a

kiss."

"My love, lips of wine await your caress. What is so important?" Susanna

whispers.

"My heart is ready for commitment, my love. I can hardly wait to see you.

Bye, my love." Sam hangs up.

Thirty minutes later Sam arrives with a bouquet of pink and red roses.

Susanna opens the door and embraces him, holds him tight, and kisses his

lips. Susanna arranges a lovely table by the love-seat swing. A small round

table dressed with a pink cloth and red rose petals is perfect. A tall vase

with pink and red roses is placed on the table.

"My love, have a glass of lemonade. My hands squeezed the lemons. Just

as you like it." Susanna offers a glass.

"Thank you, my love. You know how I like it. You are my love . Let us

toast," Sam holds his glass.

Susanna raises her glass and smiles. "My love, the toast unites us." Sam

clicks his glass with Susanna's. He sips lemonade and rocks the love seat

under a moon lit sky and takes her left hand.

"My love, we have known each other for two years and my desire is to

spend eternity with you." He takes a small box out from his pocket.

Sam opens the small box and takes out a huge diamond ring out. "My love,

this ring is an expression of my love. Will you have this ring as a pledge of

my love?"

“Oh, Sam, Yes, I desire to spent eternity with you. However,...But the

diamond is huge. Oh, Sam, the diamond is beautiful, brilliant, and so large.

My love, My ring is huge. Yes, the diamond expresses your love," Susanna

smiles.

"Beloved, my heart desires your hand in marriage. The diamond is human-

made,"

Sam’s says softly.

"What do you mean?" Susanna asks.

"A man-made diamond is free from human suffering and exploitation. This

diamond, my love, is a pledge to unite our hearts. Your hand must not be

stained with the blood.

Blood of those suffering in the diamond pit laboring under the African sun

for a meal or two. Not only greed from diamond brokers but conflict

diamonds which support war efforts. No, my love this diamond is

priceless. We must not support war and oppress our

fellowman, " Sam says seriously.

Susanna listens and feels his commitment. Susanna's dreams of her

wedding bed, sprinkled with pink and red rose petals on top of satin sheets.

She imagines her wedding night and realizes the diamond ring is the only

object left in bed.

"Pink and red rose petals sprinkled on soft satin sheets and my shimmering

diamond is all that I want," Susanna whispers.

"My beloved Sam, my hand is graced with such a dignity and honor.

Diamonds free from blood and exploitation. I read and heard about blood

diamonds, but it ended there.

When I see diamonds in a store window store, I don't question the origin of

the diamond," Susanna agrees.

"Sam, I could not even tell the difference. If you did not tell me, this

diamond is human-made, I would not have known." She squeezes Sam's

hand.

"My beloved Sam, I am so proud to give you this ring. The brilliance of

this diamond exceeds the diamond from the pit," Sam whispers in her ear.

"Thank you for not staining my hand on our wedding bed," Susanna says

softly.

************************************************

LADY LIBERTY

Grandmother and Elizabeth spent six weeks on a smelly ship cramped with

Dutch immigrants. It was rough crossing the Atlantic undergoing nature in

all its moods: the rustle of the wind, the fine silvery stream, the raging of a

waterfall, a moist breeze, and dew, wet after a rainfall. Elizabeth’s eyes

was fixed on a crescent moon and large silvery stars, and the calm waves

of the sea motion rocked her to comfort like a baby in a mother’s womb. In

seven more hours the Groote Bear would unload a thousand Dutch

immigrants offshore on Ellis Island in New York harbor. Grandmother was

thrilled to feel the solid land beneath her bloated feet and swollen ankles in

New York harbor.

Five hours passed and sun rays danced on the narrow window pane, and a

cool blue ray touched Elizabeth’s cheeks. She yawned, lifted her arms high,

sighed, and peeked, squinting her eyes wondering if it was a dream.

“Grandmother, look. The sky is like a peacock strutting and the rays of the

sun dance striking notes like a moonlight sonata. Today, we see Lady

Liberty,” Elizabeth said softly.

Grandmother and Elizabeth decided to remain in the cabin because the

deck was packed like a can of sardines. Lady Liberty greets and welcomes

those who see her.

Elizabeth knew what the lady represents: unity, freedom, friendship, and

justice. The lady is the hall mark for ships with immigrants seeking

democracy and freedom.

Elizabeth could see the harbor and tall buildings of New York just a few

miles away across the bay. The ship floated into the bay swaying back and

forth, preparing to dock.

Elizabeth’s eyes glistened like shimmering diamonds and she hugged

Grandmother

whispering,

“Grandmother, we must stay and greet the lady with a smile and tears. She

is waiting for us, Grandmother.” Elizabeth said.

“Yes, she is. Do you think she will greet me?" Grandmother asked. "I am

old."

“Yes, Grandmother. She greets the old, poor, young , and the rich,” said

Elizabeth enthusiastically.

“Grandmother, I read that you have to climb twenty-five flights of stairs

inside the statue to reach the upper deck and when you reach the upper

deck, the view of the New York City skyline is absolutely breathtaking.”

Elizabeth glimmered like a shining star.

“The people of France gave the statue to the people of the United States of

America well, over one hundred years ago in recognition of the friendship

established during the American Revolution,” Elizabeth said confidently.

“You studied well. You are a wise girl.” Grandmother nodded her head

and smiled.

The moment arrived and the captain blazed on the loud speaker. “We are

docking the ship shortly. Ellis Island is the gateway to America. Welcome

to America.”

Elizabeth and Grandmother holding hands listened to the bellowing of the

captain and looked for the lady. In the corner stood the lady, and Elizabeth

was in awe and dropped her jaw.

“Grandmother, look at the lady. She is wearing a long pleated dress, a

radiant crown studded with sun beams, sandals, trampling broken chain and

carrying a torch in her raised right hand. She is beautiful and magnificent

like a goddess." Elizabeth's finger pointed to the lady.

“Elizabeth, what does the lady have in her left arm?" Grandmother asked.

“Grandmother, she is holding a tablet, where the date of the Declaration of

America’s Independence is inscribed."

Elizabeth bowed to the lady and said, "Your torch is the light that

enlightens. It is your light that will meet all my challenges to make America

a better place. I accept your hospitality and love for freedom, liberty, and

justice. Grandmother we are home.”

“Yes, and tomorrow we are celebrating your twelfth birthday. Let us visit

the lady.

*************************************************

ECHOES OF THE DUTCH EAST INDIES

“There are smugglers among you, ” the commandant shouted.

The Japanese guard asked, “Who has tried to smuggle during the night? If

none of you will answer then the whole camp will be punished! So come

forward”

Some of the women became angry and called out aloud: “Just say it if you

have smuggled the passed night, otherwise we will all be punished even

the little children!!"

But no one came forward. The Jap became really furious and said, "The the

whole camp shall be punished today. You shall have no water until

tomorrow morning.”

After a day without water, the women once again were all called together.

The Jap and the Dutch interpreter told them that they all had to watch how

three women who had tried to smuggle would be hanged that day. Bamboo

poles were installed, then two women and a young girl were brought

forwards. Their hands were tied behind their backs, their toes could just

touch the ground, their heads fell forwards and so the sun was

shining for a couple of hours on the back of their necks.

The camp women had to stand and watch them, while the Jap guard warned

them all that next time when there was anymore smuggling, the punishment

would be even worse. When at last the two women and the young girl

could go, they had to be carried to their mattresses. They couldn't walk.

The third interrogation was when Ineka was on duty as a night-watcher.

There was hardly any moonlight that horrible night, and it was quite cold as

well. She heard a woman crying out aloud from pain. You could hear how

she was beaten up with a split bamboo stick. The Japs were always using

split bamboos since that would give one

splinter in the body. This beating up didn't stop while she was on night duty

from two until four o'clock in the morning. It just went on and on. Mothers

were desperate, their children were starving, they didn't grow, they didn't

get their vitamins, they were sometimes dying in their mother's arms.

A Dutch officer was a patient in her clinic suffering from beriberi. One

morning, a Japanese doctor dragged him out, bound his wrists together,

wrapped him in a plaited mat, and tied him in such a way that only the

officer’s legs below the knees could be seen.

The doctor then set fire to the mat. All the patients of the clinic had to

witness the officer jump. When the fire died out, the doctor bound the

officer’s feet and hanged him from a bough of a tree in such a way that the

officer was upside down but his hands touched the ground to support part

of his body weight. The doctor then removed the burnt mat from

the officer body and left him in that position. Sister Corrina cut him down

and nursed him. The following day the officer improved slightly, and

mustered enough energy to mutter a few words. The Dutch interpreter was

assisting Sister Corrina.

“Sister, Do you have a woman Leny Glaser with two children named

Ernestine and Wilhelm?"

“Yes.”

“We escaped from the Java sea into the east hills of Java and joined the

allied forces but were rounded up by the Japs under top command. They

were packed alive into bamboo livestock cages, transported in open rail

cars to Surabaya, then taken to sea and thrown overboard to sharks, while

still in the bamboo cages.”

“God forgive them. How can I tell Leny ?” Sister Catherine wept.

“You don’t. You tell her he fought as a hero. Dirty Japs ,” the interpreter

said.

***************************************************************************************

The Role of a Flower

Karina loves this sacred place where space and time is silent,

and free from the noise of the city. She enjoys the wild stretch of

white sand gracing the rolling hills and valleys of the desert. A

place where the wind can loosen her hair and blow dust from her

cheeks, moisten her lips from a gentle breeze, and sink her feet on a

tapestry of water-washed sand. She sits on daisy camel cloth and

her slender piano fingers prepares her palette and paints. Today, a

trip to paint desert flowers in bloom. It is the season for flowers to

bloom. Pink, lavender, sage, and yellow. The horizon struts as a

peacock of white, green, and blue skies. She takes a dab of hunter

green and outlines a leaf. Whiffs of lavender and sage slow down

the twist of leaf, and as she looks she sees the a mirage of two

bodies.

The outline becomes more visible. It is of two men smartly

dressed in striking white long-sleeved shirts, black pleated slacks,

and shimmering black shoes. The tallest holds a book and places it

on his chest. The rays of the sun shine off his gold watch

illuminating the book. They slowly approach her and smile. Karina

feels safe.

"The flower is beautiful," says the tallest pointing to Karina’s

painting.

"Yes, but the desert flowers in bloom are more beautiful. This

is only an image.”

"We are missionaries from the Latter Day Saints. Can we have

a moment of your time?"

"Yes, you can rest a while. Enjoy the desert flowers in bloom."

Karina extends her daisy camel cloth for the two missionaries.

The missionaries quickly present Karina a book. "Man has the

potential to become God." The tallest briefly tell the history

of God. God and his wife are exalted persons, they each possess

physical bodies. In their

exalted states as deities produce spirit children that grow and

mature in the spiritual realm. The first spirit born was Jesus.

Afterward, Lucifer was born with the rest of us.

The missionaries offered exaltation and a state of godhood. " As

God once was, man is.

As God is, man may become."

Karina untwines her hair and long waves fall straight to her

defined delicate shoulders. She exhales. "How can I achieve this

exaltation?" Karina takes her paint brush.

"To reach this exalted state of godhood, you must first become

a good Mormon, pay a full ten percent tithe to the Mormon church,

follow various laws and ordinance of the church, and be found

worthy. You have to pass secret rituals. At the end you will have

your own planet and be a god of your own world. Our system has

expanded to other planets.

After an hour of instruction Karina feels the noise of a city. She

places her hands on her ears. She feels a nervous inside. An

anxious feeling like purging a meal.

"What is a role of a flower?" Karina asks.

"What do you mean?" the tallest holds the Book of Mormon.

"My life is like the desert flowers in bloom. My role in life is

like that flower.

Everything sacred is in the content of a flower. The role of a flower

is to exist."

The missionaries get up and shake the sand from their shoes

clenching the book.

"To meditate in the desert adorned by desert flowers, flowers in

bloom, for only a moment is greater than becoming a god and

preparing for eternity." Karina says.

The missionaries leave and the city noise, the nervousness inside,

the strangeness

and violent reaction like a mixed tape in her heart vanished.

"The value of nothing is greater that the value of everything,"

Karina thinks and paints the desert flowers in bloom until sunset.

She gathers her things and sees thousands of twinkling stars

reflecting light in brilliant glittering flashes.

*********************************************

PURGING THE MIND

“The Purging of the Mind and the Ending of Time must prevail for the Sacred to exist.” Deanna

Heavy rains draped the pointed arch cathedral, the ribbed vault, and the

exterior buttresses. The cathedral had many figures, and these gargoyles on

the buttress were frightening when these animals like creatures spat large

amounts of water on the ground.

The brick cement that was used to bind the stones together dangled loosely,

and rains chipped the slated shingle cedar roof held by copper flashing.

Cyclone Charlotte came across from the gulf and flooded cairns, coupled

with king tides. The monsoon gave gale force winds and rain for days

causing road closures and impassible rivers and creek crossings. The cane

fields look like lakes. Inside the cathedral were pitched pine pews,

oak arches and bronze statues. But probably the most spectacular were the

stained glass windows: the interlocking triangles of Star David, the

Crescent Moon and Star, the Christian Cross, the Ying and Yang circle,

Buddha posing at the temple, and Lord’s Krishna’s battle with Arjuna.

No single space was left vacant in the seating that circled the elaborate

ornamental pulpit, which represented a ship with sails, a mast, and rigging,

poised over sea monsters.

The pillar of the nave was placed near the acoustics, and the sounding

board made the speaker’s voice perfectly distinct and by giving it, the form

of a shell the waves of sound was sent in a definite direction. On the right

side of the pulpit lay a handful of sacred text:

The Bible, the Torah, the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Sutras. The

only book covered was the Bible. Its cover was detailed gracefully with a

slender-tailed, small- headed dove. On the left side of pulpit was Master’s

one hour homily.

“Has Master arrived?” asked a woman shaking the wetness. from It’s like

the Great Lakes outside. Master chose a bad time to come.” A young

woman, classically curved, gingerly walked to the white gloved usher who

seated her by a blue and white cornice stained windows.

Followers and guests packed like sardines eyed Master’s foot-steps.

Master walked slowly. Dressed in his somber black suit, black socks, and

black shimmering shoes perfectly laced, he magnified the embodiment of

holiness. Master, marked by melancholy, smiled softly to his flock and

bowed graciously. His eyes reflected the color of the sky on a cloudless

day, and his shiny gray white hair complemented his silver bullet approach.

Master approached the pulpit and looked compassionately at his

followers.

“Master looks different,” whispered a man dressed in a white shirt and red

tie.

“What do you mean?” replied a woman shaking the water off her diamond.

“I don’t know. Master is ready to speak.” He nudged the woman softly.

Master walked his final step and his long piano fingers clung to the pulpit.

With restrained and determined composure he stood tall. His right hand

moved with an effort and he held a red book against his heart. The rain

water was running through the ruts and closely by the door. A usher peeked

through a pane of clear glass and saw a person rowing a boat up the street.

Master’s followers held on to their pitched pews, and when one double

whammy king tide wreaked havoc and slammed the side of the cathedral,

Master said calmly. “Truth is not within a book. Truth is not in the Bible.

Truth is not in the Torah. Truth is not in the

Koran. Truth is not in the Bhagavad Gita. Truth is not in the Sutras. Truth is

not within a book.” He stretched his arm and stacked the handful on a pile.

“Truth is not in creed nor ritual. The path of Truth has no form, no

boundary, and is free from a savior, a rabbi, an imam, a guru, a monk, or

authority. No authority can lead you to Truth. I resign today as your

spiritual leader.” Master opened the red book carefully.

The pages were empty; not a word written in it. He showed the empty

pages back and forth.

“Truth is like this book. Pathless. Your mind must be vacant like this book

and beyond the inventions and tricks of the mind. You must leave the pool

you have dug for yourself and go out into the river of life. God is dead.”

A gasp swept across the cathedral while another king tide spun clockwise,

chopping the cedar shingles into wood chips, dropping copper flashing,

dumping large amounts of water, and pitching the scattered handful of

books. In a net pool thickly ingrained with dirt and soot lay scriptures and

the slender- tailed small-headed dove sliced by the razor

glass edges of the windows.

**********************************************

KOKI

It started to dawn and Koki climbed up the tall trunk of a coconut palm.

Koki hugged the trunk with his arms and, planting his bare feet squarely

against the trunk, took small steps upward, his knees bent outward . Then

he pushed his arms up higher, took more steps, and so moved up the palm

as gracefully and easily as a squirrel. When he reached the crown and the

thick cluster of nuts, he picked one, and held it in his hand

looking at the luscious jungles covered in different shades of green.

Flowers like honeysuckle were fragrant in the air, attracting butterflies and

birds. Koki waited for the sounds of the vendors calling out as they walked

along the gravel road, advertising their produce and wares. The natives

would come down from the mountains, and they would sing out in their

native language “Vegetables!” “Fresh Fruit!” and “Flowers! Beautiful

Flowers!” Koki would call them over, and they would come and

squat beside him and bargain with him over star fruit, papayas, and

mangoes. Koki loved to buy the sweet smelling carnations, lilies, and

sunflowers for mother.

Koki was straining his ears for any little noise that could tell him what was

happening when he became aware of something else. It was a way off, in

the distance, like the humming of bees. A soft drone that became louder as

it neared, until an earsplitting roar overhead made him drop the coconut

and bolted out of the palm tree, abandoning his wicker basket. “Nippon!

Nippon! Floating slowly in parachutes. They are here!” Koki gasped.

Then total and utter silence. The silence was more frightening than the roar

of the plane. Timidly, still shaking with fright, Koki looked over his

shoulder. Not a soul, not a

dog, or bird, was to be seen. Koki glanced at the house with its pond in

front of the house with and the two proud banyan trees, across the road. All

the windows were tightly closed and shuttered.

Running all the way around the house was a big veranda where tea was

served in the afternoons, overlooking the lawns that rolled down to the

wide, muddy river. There was always something happening on the Siak

river. On most days, it was only the sampans, floating lazily by on the way

to market, loaded with fish or fruit or vegetables. Events of

tribal families filled the river with hundreds of boats of all sizes festooned

with bright ribbons and flags and paper lanterns. People dressed up in

wondrous costumes with enormous masks pulled over heads, danced and

somersaulted with boundless energy.

Stilt-walkers strode audaciously from one teetering boat onto the next,

while dressed- up monkeys performed clever tricks balance on long poles.

Grandfather watched from the veranda as the afternoon waned. The teeming

life on the river disturbed Grand-father.

He often scanned the river up and down, speaking in a worried voice about

“them,” the Japs, possibly coming up the river in boats.

“They could sneak up the back way before I would even know they were

there,” Grandfather. whispered. Koki knew that there would be no more

celebrations, singing, or wonderful fragrances to enjoy. The tropical sky

that once displayed sunsets framed by the tropical jungle and ocean below

was now a source of fear.

“Master, the Japs are here. Not by sneaking up the back way but bearing

the red circle, a red ball strutting the sky,” Koki thought. He sprinted

from Pekanbaru, feeling hopeless, fearing the plan the Japs had for the

whites. Traveling through the rain forest,

rice paddies, and on a mountain slope, a striking snow-white tiger asleep.

Koki showed no emotion and became like an eagle in wait. He heard of

the mystical’snow-white tiger possessed with keen channeling powers.

“You are the tiger spirit who looks after the forests, walks through

fragile woods where pale moonlight orchids flourish.” Koki thought.

Koki stroked the feathery tendrils that hung down from the kapok trees and

breathed in the heady fragrances of the honeysuckle vines and lily-of -the-

valley flowers.

“Master, the snow-white spirit where pale moonlight orchids flourish

will protect you.” Koki thought.

Koki gracefully bowed to the sleeping tiger, and covered his body with

wet-ripped elephant ears and walked briskly the marked banyan tree trail

to his village.

*******************************************

One sentence project

ECHOS OF RAMADAN AND FREEDOM

In an ancient land where the royal family has ruled for thousands of years

and the shariah dictates the law of the land of how people live; where

women must be covered from head to toe and are not allowed to drive,

vote or own property Fatima was awakened by the rhythmic melody of the

chirping of the red breasted robin and other birds sitting on the olive and

apricot trees adjacent to her huge arched bedroom window

decorated with a mosaic ornate patterns during the last day of the holy

month of Ramadan which is characterized by atonement, sacrifice,

forgiveness ,charity, spiritual purification ,reaffirmation of faith and union

of people from all beliefs and all walks of life from most humble and poor

to the very rich where the call to prayer or Adhan began by the Imam Abu

Baker chanting and announcing the fajr prayer poetically at 4:46 a.m. and

after she repeated the words, "allahu akbar allahu akbar, ash-hadu

an la ilaha illallah, ash-hadu an la ilaha illallah, ash-hadu anna

muhammadan rasulullah, ash-hadu anna muhammadan rasulullah, hayya al

salaah hayaa al salaah, assalaatu khairum min an naum, assalaatu khairum

min an naum, allahu akbar allahu akbar la ilaha ill Allah, " she gently

pushed aside the crimson red satin sheets and descended from her

bed with four feet each made of fine hand carved mahogany wood formed

into the shape of a lion and a mattress filled with goose feathers and she

laid down on the hand woven prayer rug to perform the ritual dawn prayer,

since today was to be a special day of celebration for atonement and

because she will be traveling and moving to the land of the free, America,

where she will free herself from the veil and the hijab and exercise

her religion as she sees fit and where she can travel freely and drive a car

without a male companion and be respected and treated as an equal and be

protected by the law from physical violence and abuse, and most

importantly where she is not considered an object or personal property or a

possession to be ruled or disposed, but rather she has the possibility to be

viewed as a whole person who can vote, participate in politics, attend

university or exercise any profession she may desire and pursue her

happiness whatever that may be because of opportunities she was denied in

an ancient land, rich in oil, ruled by a male dominated kingdom lusting for

power and control and male domination using religion as a tool to keep the

other-half submissive, child-like, and function like a one-wing bird to

injured to psychologically mature and develop as a fully actualized

human-being capable of thinking, perceiving, and utilizing her innate

potential not based on what society dictates which is immoral not only for

the individual but for society as a whole.

********************************************

　 SARAI OF SAUDI ARABIA

The police stopped and a squat little man dressed in an immaculately

pressed khaki uniform got out. The uniform made him look even rounder

and shorer because of the big balloon like "wings" that stuck from his

trousers at the thighs. He wore a peaked cap that shaded his face that

shaded his face. His knee-high black boots, polished to a shine, had hard

soles that were loud andimpressive as he marched up to Mahout. The

officer ran his left hand through his thick jet hair and with his right hand

held a long thick sable colored shaft.

"He is approaching us. Lie still."

The officer threw a glance and rubbed his parrot shaped nose shaking

his head and lifting his shaft.

"What is this?" What do we have here?" The offer tapped Sarai with

his shaft.

"What is this? What do we have here?" The officer tapped Sarai with

his shaft.

"Who is this woman?"

"Her father asked me to escort her for a class project." Mahout replied.

"Sir, you are in violation of looking at a woman who is unrelated." The

policeman said firmly.

"I am taking her home." Mahout replied.

"Miss, will you step out. What happened to your abaya and veil?" asked

the officer.

"Why did you leave the veil in the desert?" asked the officer.

"Sir, I am not bound to a unjust law, and I left them in the desert."

Sarai said softly.

"You know, you have to wear the abaya and the veil. It is the law." The

officer raise his voice.

"Sir, I will no longer wear the abaya and the veil. Arrest me. Mahout

and I agree that the law is oppressive, not ony for the woman, but also for

the man. It is an unjust law staged by the clerics to control us." Sarai

cried.

"Sir, will you convince her she must wear the abaya?" The officer

whacked Mahout on his back.

Mahout dropped to his knees and pleaded with him to grant Sarai a

chance to wear the abaya and veil. He asked the officer for an abaya and

veil.

"Okay. She must obey." The officer urgently called for a female guard

and abaya.

"Arrest me. We buried the curtain permanently. Remember the words

of The Prophet, may he rest in peace, that a grave cannot be disturbed."

"Lady, you must put on the abaya and veil." Maybe the desert sun

confused your thinking." The officer thumped her with his boot.

Sarai was determinind to protect her freedom.

"I cannot accept the abaya and veil."

A squad car arrived and a man dressed in a white flowing robe and a

white headdress held on top with a black round turban opened the door. A

woman guard got out and walked briskly with the help of a wooden staff.

Her pefect laced black boots stood boldly underneath her tailored black

abaya as she approached the officer who was hovering over Mahout

squinting at Sarai.

"What do we have here?" asked the guard leaning on her staff holding

an abaya.

"A dress code violation."

"Do you see how she is dressed? She is an example of virtue," the

officer pointed to the guard's abaya.

"Put on this abaya." The guard scuffled and forced the abaya on Sarai.

Sarai choked in her tears as she heard the click of handcuffs on her wrist.

The chauffeur grabbed Sarai and Sarai felt kicks from her boots shuffling

her in the backseat of the squad car. The guard sat next to Sarai and the

driver took rapid looks at Sarai's teary eyes smeared with blood.

"Look, what you did. You dulled my polish." The guard spit on the red

spots on her boot.

The squad car stopped at the moral police head quarters. Sarai was

pushed out of the car and dragged into a filthy bathroom, full of water and

dirt. The guard kicked Sarai into the room.

"Take off your clothes," the guard ordered.

Sarai slowly took off her cloths and handed them to her.

"Now, squat and remain in that position." The gaurd threw her clothes

in a latrine.

Sarai felt hopeless. She was very submissive giving up hope.

"Pick up your clothes and put them back on. You sinful infidel," the

guard shouted. Sarai put on her clothes dripping in urine. As she put on

her bra and panties. Sarai imagined her place in the desert. Her head

swam and spun, as she put her blouse to soften the blows.

"I let her beat me because I have no other choice. I feel every kick

and hit. Every part of my body hurt and my eyes burn from unshed

tears. This woman who calls herself human is not going to break my

spirit. I am not going to let her see my pain. I am not going to let her

see my anger, or how much it hurt." Sarai thought as she summoned her

memories of her mother sunbathing in the bathing suit.

The guard covered her with an abaya and made her sit soaking wet in a

place that reeked of refuse and called her father.

　********************************************

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT　

At the front of the camp by the gate was the Japanese commander'soffice,

and a large blackboard outside the office, where everyone could read what

was going on. On the other side, another blackboard listed the name of each

prisoner and their number. A number was assinged and pinned on. Even

the children had to wear a number.

In a tropical climate, the children had on little pants and a little shirt, or

sometimes no shirt at all. A soldier approach a little boy who wasn't

wearing his shirt but had his number on his pants. Mother stood behind the

boy and ripped her sarong to cover the boy.　

"Boy must wear the number on shirt," the Jap scoffed. The soldier took

it off the boy's pants and pinned it directly onto the left side of the boy's

bare chest.

"Do not remove the number. Everyone must wear a number."

"Help, help me," the boy screamed.

"Now, you move the pin. Always have shirt on," the soldier shouted to

the boy. Mother was shocked and for a brief moment, she forgot to look

down while in the presence of a Jap. The soldier kicked Mother and hit

her breast and stomach with brute force. The boy heard the thump, thump,

thump sound as the soldier beat her. 　

The boy listened in horror and his scream faded into total silence.

Mother got up. Slowly, holding her breast and walked to the boy. She

took the pin out of his flesh and clothed the boy. She took the boy to her

barrack. Wilhelm was warm hearted and helped mother tending the boy's

wound. His parents died and his appearance looked not older than his real

age because of his sunken face and skeleton frame.

"What's going to happen next year when I turn thirteen?" the boy cried.

"Don't think about it. Close your eyes and rest. Tomorrow will come soon

enough." Mother said softly wiping the sweat of his face.

"Next year the Japs will take him to the men's camp. But from this day

on, you are my son." Mother thought.

No long thereafter, when Grandfather pointed to the women. Most of the

men ran outside, climbed onto any high perches they could find, and shaded

their eyes to look into the distance.

"Look." Grandfather whispered. "Look, my daughter is holding an

orange cloth."

Grandfather waved and mother waved the orange cloth back and forth.

"I bet those Japs alongside do not even know why she was waving an

orange cloth." said Grandfather.

The man standing next to Grandfather screamed when he recognized his

daughter and frantically waved his arms. His daughter passed by, and with

his bare hands he climbed over the barbed wire. He ran to his daughter,

dropped to his knees, and blood spat out when he reached stretched his

arms. His daughter reached out and held tightly his hand.

A Japanese solder tore them apart with a wooden stick. Another soldier

kicked him and made him sit on the ground holding the stick behind the

the bent knees. He fainted and regained consciousness three hours later.

Then the soldier maltreated him again by beating his back with sticks.

Then he hit the man on his thigh and broke his thighbone. The stick was

over one foot long and as thick as an arm. Seeing that the man was

unable to walk the soldier buried him in the ground up to the neck. Then

the soldier ordered roll call and the women and children had to remain

in a bowing position facing Japan.

"Do not look up. Remain in that position until I order you to stand

at attention." the soldier yelled.

Mother shivered briefly and dared to move. The women were released

when the man was unearthed and let free. Grandfather helped the man as

he crawled back to the barrack with two arms and one leg, dragged the

bloody broken leg. The soldier,with a threatened of death to anyone who

from helped the poor man frightened Grandfather.

"Shah. Don't talk. Here. Slowly." Grandfather poured a little rice water

into his mouth. Grandfather took a piece of his sheet and ripped it to small

pieces, cleaning and binding the wound. The man clung to Grandfather

until two Japs shouted roll-call.

Meditation
The inner-circle of the man with the Meinkempf look soon meet its fate with a bend. After his thin tall body is wrapped in white the people shout the win on the road of Damascus. A harvest planted plenty with protest, and persistence will sprout new blades of dreams and inspirations.

Loud speaker is modern technology and not used by Prophet Mohammad.

Meditation
The inner-circle of the man with the Meinkempf look soon meet its fate with a bend. After his thin tall body is wrapped in white the people shout the win on the road of Damascus. A harvest planted plenty with protest, and persistence will sprout new blades of dreams and inspirations.

MeditationThe inner-circle of the man with the Meinkempf look soon meet its fate with a bend. After his thin tall body is wrapped in white the people shout the win on the road of Damascus. A harvest planted plenty with protest, and persistence will sprout new blades of dreams and inspirations.

Loud speaker is modern technology and not used by Prophet Mohammad.

MeditationThe inner-circle of the man with the Meinkempf look soon meet its fate with a bend. After his thin tall body is wrapped in white the people shout the win on the road of Damascus. A harvest planted plenty with protest, and persistence will sprout new blades of dreams and inspirations.

Meditation
The inner-circle of the man with the Meinkempf look soon meet its fate with a bend. After his thin tall body is wrapped in white the people shout the win on the road of Damascus. A harvest planted plenty with protest, and persistence will sprout new blades of dreams and inspirations.

Meditation
The inner-circle of the man with the Meinkempf look soon meet its fate with a bend. After his thin tall body is wrapped in white the people shout the win on the road of Damascus. A harvest planted plenty with protest, and persistence will sprout new blades of dreams and inspirations.