This short story collection is intended for young and old, man and woman. The tragedy of a lonely circus sideshow strongwoman. The two surgeons who nearly succeed in grafting the body and the spirit to immortality.
The angel scribe who keeps the books for "Big Daddy." The North African boy, who with a magic seed and strong spiritual faith, rescues his family from starvation and political oppression. The prehistoric "Iceman of Beringia" whose faith and power over his natural world, survives both the ages and modern archaeology. The downed flyer who is returned to his wife and children by the most important and influential Santa of all. The innocence of an American boy growing up during World War II. The recklessness of a dragonfly and the patience of a frog.
Harry S. Monesson resides on the New Jersey
Pinelands International Biosphere Reserve.
From his cottage surrounded by a green brier patch and a cranberry bog,
he writes on many subjects -- traditional, experimental, and avant-garde.
Harry is the author of Knibblers in the Sand, Sand
Sharks in the Pines; Up a Cranberry
Tree II; The World's Biggest Tummy;
Berry Patch Tales; and Boggenskrogin. His most recent work, Sand Sharks in the Pines, illustrated by William Netamux'we Sauts
Bock, will be released by 1st Books Library in 2001.
"You’re a doctor, too?" I asked Sagamore.
"I will be working closely with the great surgeon, Dr. Anubis Sarcophagus . . . I’m a Doctor of Theology."
"Where are the rest of the people who are supposed to be here to observe and listen to your seminar?" I asked worriedly.
Dr. Usterwas very considerately placed a calming hand on my shoulder. "They have already experienced immortality," he said. "Yarrah, now you are the audience."
"I thought we were both ‘audience’ when we were in the cab."
"Dr. Anubis Sarcophagus sent me out to bring you here. There is nothing you should be concerned about."
"I’m damned well concerned about immortality, and what the hell has a surgeon to do with it?" I yelled.
"Surgery on the body is always minor; surgery on the soul is always major," Dr. Sagamore Usterwas reminded me. "We have learned from our medical and theological mistakes--and tonight we are prepared for full success in melding both sciences together. I will do my best to see that you experience immortality."
"I’d like to believe what you say, but how could you and he expect anyone to believe, when both of you could die of the same malady as everyone else--shortness of breath. And neither of you has ever mentioned such a rare accomplishment."
Dr. Usterwas stared at my chest exactly as he had done during the cab ride. "All breath is the essence of the soul, as Dr. Sarcophagus and I shall gladly prove to disbelievers," he said softly. I then found myself being forcefully led to a cloth-shrouded table, above which glowed a bright lamp from the center of what appeared to be a gigantic ceiling fan more appropriate to a Florida courthouse in July.
I had been tricked by Dr. Usterwas and my presence before him and Dr. Sarcophagus suddenly seemed outrageous and bizarre. That fan was like a giant spider that had pounced upon me, and something within it pressed heavily, wrenching at my innards. I was unable to flee from the macabre surroundings. Wishing to be quickly done with the whole matter, I screamed, "Let’s get on with this thing called ‘immortality’!"
