Upcoming Release: Thinking, Just Thinking
SECOND COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES
BY JACK CARBEE:
THINKING, JUST THINKING
In November you can access on Kindle and in paperback form the newest collection of short stories from the interesting pen (actually keyboard) of Jack Carbee. Seventeen unpublished additions to the literary world are included, told from the varied perspectives of Rodin’s famous statue The Thinker, a dog seeking revenge for the humiliation of a right paw to the face by Bruno the cat (Feline Meanderings), and a young suicide bomber just before detonating the vest. One of the stories (The Last Mourner) was written ten years ago but parallels today’s struggle with Covid 19. It begins:
The reports were the same. For days the networks had followed its spread. At first, European hospitals diagnosed it as an acute strain of the Asian flu. But the severity with which it struck was unprecedented.
The dull brown eyes stared resolutely at the computer. Thick fingers manipulated the keys periodically, calling up news reports from around the continent. From Amsterdam the headline read Doctors, Scientists Puzzled. From Paris the news seemed more desperate. Hospitals were inundated. Thousands lay dying. No medication stemmed the relentless march of the disease. The fever, the blotches, the fierce headaches, the uncontrollable trembling, the coma and the silent death; it ran its course in mere days. Moscow reported panic. Families fled the city. Victims lay strewn in hospital corridors. Rome now indicated that cases were multiplying. Only a week ago, the Italian peninsula seemed insulated. From Barcelona, Athens, Lisbon headlines screamed of fear; governments were scrambling desperately; chaos grew.
The Shuttlecock Wars is a satire on man’s inability to accept the concept of world peace. A Swiss genius invents a laser which renders all modern weapons useless. This he believes will bring him acclaim and brotherhood to all peoples. Instead, he is labeled the “Peace Nazi” and universally hated.
His thoughts focused on the effects of the World Peace Initiative and its founder Franz Himmelman. Josef bitterly despised the man and his astonishing invention which revolutionized the Earth and brought with it universal peace. No longer were age old conflicts settled with arms and strategy and the sacrifices which accompany them. Thirty years ago from high in his Swiss Alps laboratory, Himmelman unleashed on the world his revolutionary laser technology. Small arms ranging from police handguns to military machine guns were instantly fused into worthless chunks of iron. Missiles in hidden silos and mounted under the wings of aircraft of every description suddenly were suitable for no more than building crude fences. Tanks and any vehicle with armaments attached were rendered useless, serviceable only as taxis. Spy satellites wobbled from their orbits. Only arrows, swords and knives remained as threats.
In a sobering account of generational disputes, The Legacy relates a Bordeaux family’s struggle over traditional verses modernized methods in the production of classic wines-and the tragic outcome.
The weathered brown hand reached through cobwebs for a solitary bottle lying forlornly on ancient oak shelving. It hovered, trembling slightly, and then the fingers clutched their target. Slowly, lovingly, the dusty remnant of a lifetime of dedication to the craft was lifted from its resting place and rotated to reveal the label, vaguely discernible through decades of dust. In the semi-dark coolness of the cave, the faded grey eyes squinted to take in the ornate floral pattern and the beautifully scripted words.
Chateau Belle Fleur…A faint smile spread across the withered mouth. He lifted his forearm and with the sleeve of the flannel shirt tenderly rubbed the dust away.
‘It was her label. Veronique designed it and painted the original on canvas. It hung proudly in the tasting room…until they took over.’
Chasing Shadows is a look at a conspiracy within the military to ensure future budget windfalls by manufacturing world crises. A retiring officer reflects over the successes of the program as he destroys evidence of ‘money well spent’.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. The stride suggested purpose and the heels clicked forcefully. Inside the office, everything was quiet. Faint shadows showed indistinct forms; a desk, several chairs, file cabinets, book shelves, computer equipment and a few pictures on the walls were discernable. The footfalls stopped and soon a decisive mechanical clank signaled the lock had been thrown back. Slowly the door opened and light permeated the shadowy darkness. A large hand reached inside and flicked on the bank of lights. With seeming disinterest, the hulking form in a crisp parade uniform plopped a leather briefcase on the desk and turned to survey the surroundings.
Gray eyes stopped on the picture above the desk. George Washington stared down. “Good morning, General. It’s good to see that you survived another night alone. What are you gonna do without me around?” The large hand was raised in a solemn salute.
Major Eugene Compton rounded the desk and slid into the dark leather chair. Carelessly his fingers tapped out a rhythmic march as he glanced at the shelves. The drumming ceased and the fingers froze. ‘Damn, that’s a lot of books to pack on top of all the other stuff. Shredding and packing, shredding and packing! Shit, then I’ve got to put in an appearance at the farewell. Look happy, shake hands, kiss cheeks, pretend that the last thirty years are just going to vanish into the mist.’ The face contorted. Deep wrinkles appeared. ‘They all will understand some day. Give your life to a cause, plot, scheme, worry and grieve-I don’t think that when I wake up tomorrow on the beach, it will have all disappeared.’
Finally, The Ascension tells of a reporter’s attempt to verify the story of a strange event in a small Missouri town.
“Damnedest thing I ever seen. Sure as hell, I never seen anything like it before. He just lay over on that there bench and then I swear to God the glow started. Damn. I looked all around me tryin’ to figure out where the light was comin’ from. But there weren’t nothin’ causin’ it. It was just old Bobby Welton, slumpin’ over on that bench in the square with this unbelievable shinin’ light comin’ out from him. At first I thought he was on fire. Damnedest thing I ever seen.”
He paused. His gaze was affixed on an indefinable spot somewhere above the oak tree in the center of the small park, somewhere above the ancient courthouse. For a moment he was silent. Cars meandered by. Children laughed. A small plane droned in the distance. I waited.
As with Morning Wine, the collection is varied. Other titles include Fishing with Grandpa, Stained Glass, Tears of a Clown, The Marketplace, Cursing George Gray, Vengeance is Sweet, Testosterone Dialogues and Semantics of War. Some stories will make you smile, others will result in disbelief at man’s frailties. All are worth a read.