Uh-oh, Silvio. Tread carefully and lightly around Jo. In my imagination I see a bright and beautiful lady between the ages of 26&61. Yet somewhere in her distant(?) background I also imagine a male relative, a Sicilian male relative who shares an experience that my second wife’s Great Love Of Her Life and first husband—I was, by the way, her eighth husband!—shared with her on their honeymoon. Her husband’s name was Gino Sabatelli, and he was Sicilian and a made man in the Los Angeles branch of the Mafia. On their wedding night he made a confession. He said that he regretted only one thing in his young life. He said it gave him nightmares about once or twice every two weeks. He said that he had once killed a man and that old Sicilian tradition of cutting off parts of the man’s body while he was alive and stuffing them into the first orifice that presented itself. Then he said, he slit the man’s throat and watched him die.
I’m afraid Jo likely has a male relative with is same experience. This not to say anything this is not to say anything of a pejorative nature about Jo. No! Not anything at all. It just says be extra polite to her. Who knows what male relatives lurk in the shadows of her otherwise exemplary life.
I read all your stories, all of them! I make bold to say I am a pretty good judge of a writer’s work. You got the right stuff, Silvio. You do.
I, too, have a story about a girl with red hair, a story I call “Hair Red Like Georgia Clay.” It’s a touching story of young love, a love misplaced and fated to fail, written in an evocative, bold style by a boy of The Old South.
The main character, the girl, and I have much in common. She attended the University of Kentucky and majored in Russian literature and then went to Medical School and became a gynecologist/obstetrician living Louisville. All this while I triple majored in Russian, French and German literatures at Vanderbilt University. My new father-in-law, whose daughter was my nextdoor neighbor and whom I married after having returned to Nashville from my studies at the Universität Heidelberg, said to me,“Mr Haynes(That’s how he always addressed me.), if you’ll make all A’s in every class you take, then I’ll guarantee you a place in Vanderbilt Medical School. I am, you see, the Chairman of the Medical School Admission Committee.” So, I, too, got into medical school.
I’ve gotten pretty far off track here, Sylvio. I apologize for that. Can you tell me a way to email you this story? I’d like for you to read it just to compare notes. I don’t know how to publish anything on Substack. I’ve tried to read the directions, and I just don’t seem able to upload a story in a word document and publish it.
Good evening, Silvio.i finally succeeded in publishing a story from my memoirs. Normally, my stories are completely true—every word! But in this story let my imagination run away with my rule about writing only to the truth. I like the opening few paragraphs and the endings. You’re a good writer. Your stories about letters unsent is well written I always enjoy reading them.
Hope you get an opportunity sometime to read the story.
Thank you for sharing all this, Michael, and for your kind words. Publishing here is super easy: just click on 'dashboard' at the top right corner of the screen, then click on 'new post' and choose 'text post'. From there, simply paste whatever text you’ve prepared. I’d love to see it published here so we can all enjoy what sounds like a fascinating story. :)
You play time like an exquisite violin.
Thank you for these sweet words. They feel like a poem.
what a beautiful comment that captures something I also feel but didn’t have the words for
Dear Rick
Thank you.
As long as the heart breathes, words are not needed.
How nice this exchange between you two is. Thank you both!
Thank you, Rick!
Wonderful story, Silvio. Esp. the seamless move between present and past and back to present.
Thank you so much, Alexander!
Ahhhh I love this!
A hint of "Funes, the Memorious" embedded within a Silvio tale.
A story within a story that wraps back around.
Spot on, as always! Thank you so much, Nathan! So I guess you now know who that Argentine gentleman was. :)
P.S.: getting to your new one soon. And looking forward to that. :)
I had my suspicions. Brilliant. I really love what you did here. Multiple nods to Borges. Bravo.
And no hurry at all. 😊
Terrific story within a story within a story. Just gorgeous
Thank you, Jo! I really appreciate it. (are you Italian?)
Even better, I am Sicilian.
Siciliano che vive in Sicilia, o siciliano di origine?
Di origine. Rutornu a simana ca trasi pi tri misi. Forse pi sempri.
Uh-oh, Silvio. Tread carefully and lightly around Jo. In my imagination I see a bright and beautiful lady between the ages of 26&61. Yet somewhere in her distant(?) background I also imagine a male relative, a Sicilian male relative who shares an experience that my second wife’s Great Love Of Her Life and first husband—I was, by the way, her eighth husband!—shared with her on their honeymoon. Her husband’s name was Gino Sabatelli, and he was Sicilian and a made man in the Los Angeles branch of the Mafia. On their wedding night he made a confession. He said that he regretted only one thing in his young life. He said it gave him nightmares about once or twice every two weeks. He said that he had once killed a man and that old Sicilian tradition of cutting off parts of the man’s body while he was alive and stuffing them into the first orifice that presented itself. Then he said, he slit the man’s throat and watched him die.
I’m afraid Jo likely has a male relative with is same experience. This not to say anything this is not to say anything of a pejorative nature about Jo. No! Not anything at all. It just says be extra polite to her. Who knows what male relatives lurk in the shadows of her otherwise exemplary life.
Bahaha. I want to read this book! (Some of this may be true).
LOL. I'll be extra polite, I promise! :)
Dear Silvio,
I read all your stories, all of them! I make bold to say I am a pretty good judge of a writer’s work. You got the right stuff, Silvio. You do.
I, too, have a story about a girl with red hair, a story I call “Hair Red Like Georgia Clay.” It’s a touching story of young love, a love misplaced and fated to fail, written in an evocative, bold style by a boy of The Old South.
The main character, the girl, and I have much in common. She attended the University of Kentucky and majored in Russian literature and then went to Medical School and became a gynecologist/obstetrician living Louisville. All this while I triple majored in Russian, French and German literatures at Vanderbilt University. My new father-in-law, whose daughter was my nextdoor neighbor and whom I married after having returned to Nashville from my studies at the Universität Heidelberg, said to me,“Mr Haynes(That’s how he always addressed me.), if you’ll make all A’s in every class you take, then I’ll guarantee you a place in Vanderbilt Medical School. I am, you see, the Chairman of the Medical School Admission Committee.” So, I, too, got into medical school.
I’ve gotten pretty far off track here, Sylvio. I apologize for that. Can you tell me a way to email you this story? I’d like for you to read it just to compare notes. I don’t know how to publish anything on Substack. I’ve tried to read the directions, and I just don’t seem able to upload a story in a word document and publish it.
Looking forward to hearing from you, Silvio.
Michael Eaton Haynes
My email: gcarter2009@gmail.com
Good evening, Silvio.i finally succeeded in publishing a story from my memoirs. Normally, my stories are completely true—every word! But in this story let my imagination run away with my rule about writing only to the truth. I like the opening few paragraphs and the endings. You’re a good writer. Your stories about letters unsent is well written I always enjoy reading them.
Hope you get an opportunity sometime to read the story.
—Mike
I hope so too, Michael. And soon! Thank you for the heads up.
Thank you for sharing all this, Michael, and for your kind words. Publishing here is super easy: just click on 'dashboard' at the top right corner of the screen, then click on 'new post' and choose 'text post'. From there, simply paste whatever text you’ve prepared. I’d love to see it published here so we can all enjoy what sounds like a fascinating story. :)
Dear Rose
Can't seem to find your comments.
Boustan.