Gallery of Tales (eBook)

Stories Traversing Time

Tofer Wade (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
144 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3178-1987-3 (ISBN)

Infos

In A Gallery of Tales, Tofer Wade offers seven stories that span generations and geography-each a portrait of the soul caught in the moments fate arrives, whether as a whisper or a shout. From Eden to Renaissance Italy, from race riots in early 20th-century America to the scorched battlefields of World War II, and into the quiet dramas of modern life--these journeys traverse history and universal ache. Leaping through time and place, they trace the emotional landscape of what it means to be mortal.

Tofer is the author of 'Pour Choices' and 'Hair of the Dog'-both set in his hometown of Incline Village, Lake Tahoe. Hey lives there with the community-famous doggie, Rocky, and his stunning Wifey, who presence continues to beg everyone's question, 'What in Heaven's name are you doing with Tofer?'

Textauszug

WWII, 1942. Outskirts of Stalingrad:

A truck, a half track, was heard struggling for freedom from a long abandoned and collapsed fox hole. In the dusk, a medic, Yuri, jumped out and wedged a board to offer traction for the tank-like caterpillar tread. As he walked around the front, he barely made out the human contrast in khaki form about ten yards in front of the bumper. He sludged with a weighty pack and turned over the wounded soldier. Yuri felt a sudden hope in his soul to not view yet another ghostly face. After a brief evaluation, he exhaled a calm, “Hang on. You’ll be alright, comrade. Thank God their aim targeted the wrong side of your chest.”

This soldier lay prostrate in the open field but mustered the hint of a smile. Motionless; shoulder pain unbearable. The depth of the muck felt like an embrace of wet cement. Earth that had learned to absorb more death than to birth new life—one could almost hear the land aching to be restored to its purpose.

Yuri was born in the communal housing projects of Stalingrad. Bleak existences that must’ve actually appeared black and white even in their present reality back in the ‘20s and ‘30s.He and his mother resided on the top floor of ten; no elevator. How many times had his little legs asked, “Mom, these go on forever! How. Many. More. Steps?”

“We’re so close, Honey. C’mon. You can do it.”

Yuri’s arrival into this treeless world, with multiple other families now intertwined with his own in their shared flat came shortly after major turning points in Russian history: Nicholas II, the Czar, and his entire family were massacred in the Revolution of 1917. The Bolsheviks, the Red Army, were in control. Yuri’s father, standing in opposition with the White Army, had been imprisoned and executed before Yuri could even begin to know him.

Yuri was just barely five when his mother sat him down for the talk. Her world was obliterated, but she tried to remain stoic, “Honey, your father cannot come home to us. He was taken to a far away place, and can’t return.”

“Can we go visit him?”

She inhaled deeply. “No, Yuri. I’m sorry. We can’t. Not for a very long time. But then, then—we’ll all be together again.”

He was lost and didn’t know why. His little mind didn’t retain any but shades of family memories and certainly couldn’t grasp the concept of never seeing his father again—whose face had already become just as any other man’s.

The year 1939 was marked by Germany and Russia, engaged in a Pact, invading Poland and dividing the country between them. WWII had begun. Not long after in 1941, Russia, now the USSR, was being invaded by Germany and a parting of these allies was necessary—USSR would stand with France and Britain, and eventually Italy, and unknowingly waited for the US to soon join their alliance against the Nazis.

Yuri enlisted before he could be drafted. His father’s residual presence in everything around him instilled not so much a desire to defend his country’s new ideals, but rather his home, his loved one…. his mother.

Yuri confirmed with the soldier that the bullet was still embedded. He hoped it had merely entered and exited through the back. Would have been far more convenient in the field, if that were the case—especially in this field, The Grave of Mamai. Instead, “Okay, Private, we should get this out.” The soldier’s eyes grew wide as Yuri drew his field knife and cut a generous slit through the uniform to better expose and tend to the wound.

He looked. Was quizzical. Confused. The young soldier turned away from Yuri. “What are these…. these bandages wrapped around your chest? Were you wounded before?” The now anxious soldier didn’t answer and still didn’t seem able or wanting to move. Yuri painstakingly unwound layer after layer of a long strip of elastic cloth.

He stopped. Sat back. Wide-eyed. Baffled. Glanced around to see the whereabouts of the Red Army. And tried to ensure the driver couldn’t see what he had just revealed. As though time had paused and labored to tick forward, Yuri looked upon the soldier, met a teary and helpless gaze, “Uhhh, how did you…. No, no. Ummm, who, who are you?”

The exposed young woman fully exploded into tears. Her eyes pleaded with Yuri. For understanding. For secrecy.

He understood. Held her hand in his. “Don’t worry. Quiet, now. It’s gonna be okay.” Wiping her eyes with his sleeve, he locked directly into them. “I won’t say a word. I swear.”

Grabbing the wad of bandage he had just unraveled from around her petite breasts, with a bit of an embarrassed snicker, “I better get this back on, where it belongs.”

That done, Yuri temporarily bandaged her gunshot wound to slow the bleeding. He lifted this feather of a being and carried her away from the direction that the truck would hopefully soon be moving. “I just need to help get the truck out of that muck and level it. The conditions are more sterile in the back, and I’ll make you more comfortable to remove that slug.”

Again, she mustered herself to the corner of a smile. Yuri stood to tend to the stranded vehicle, then knelt back down, “What is your name, my Dear?”

She turned her head toward him and whispered, “My name is Anushka.” She paused, “But, but here. Out here, I am known as Sasha…. I took my brother’s name.”

“Ahhh, Sasha. You took his name: Defender of Man. Defender, it means. Now you, Defender of your Brother? I like that. So, I’m guessing you took his ID and his uniform?”

She nodded.

He threw his head back. Looked off into the distance and then back at Anushka. “So, I will call you Sasha,” stroking her cheek with his forefinger, “but will always hold the truth within me.”

He walked only a short distance away. Anushka closed her eyes. Her shoulder continued to throb, but the pain didn’t matter as much having gained a new comrade. It seemed as though little time had passed til she heard the tread spin and then clench into the sloppy earth. The diesel fumes from the struggling engine were toxic—and made worse, as she concentrated her breath to draw down into the bottom of her lungs without expanding the wound just below her clavicle.

She drifted off into childhood dreamland. Back home on the farm, south of Stalingrad. Looking down upon the Volga River, which was a continual source of nourishment for the valley, but Anushka was rarely taken by its flow; she was more intrigued by the land. 30 acres had been passed down through their family for generations: Around 100 ewes, one ram. Anushka and her twin brother, Sasha, were tasked with the shepherding duties, though due to his health issues, the brunt of the responsibilities fell to his sister and Tolstoy, their nearly 200 pound Bear Dog. His head was more than twice that of Anushka’s. 

A scene flashed across the screen of her mind. She was watching the flock grazing lazily, as usual, but then Tolstoy broke from heeling by her side and tore in the direction of the left flank of the lambs and ewes. Anushka was immediately aware of Tolstoy’s concern and a chill shivered through her being. She stepped back knowing her puppy would handle the situation: Wolves. Three, creeping down the hill into the lush valley. Tolstoy stationed himself between the intruders and those in his care.

He simply stood his ground and stared. The sheep were oblivious to any danger. The slinking predators came to a standstill in unison. Raised their heads, looked at Tolstoy, then at each other. Deciding if lunch was worth the risk.

Tolstoy slowly made steps toward them. Fearless. But Anushka trembled.

The larger of the three sprang toward him. As the wolf leapt to attack, Tolstoy stepped aside and lunged, sank his massive jaws into its neck. Clamped on, he raised the unwelcome beast in the air, swirled it around his head, and slammed it to the ground. The outmatched wolf was dazed. Panting to find its bearings. Tolstoy stood over it and glared at the other two. They slunk back, turned suddenly and ran back up the hill. Anushka’s entire being sighed as she called Tolstoy back to her side for some well-deserved praise.

Tolstoy received the scratches, licked her hand, and stepped back toward the flock. Gave his thundering low growl. Communicating to the semi-conscious wolf that it was time to leave. Anushka couldn’t be more proud. She ran and embraced him around the neck, while he maintained a watchful eye in the direction of the retreating outsiders.

When she described the scene to her parents that night, her mother invited Tolstoy inside to dine with them. Even seated on the floor, he was tall enough to look down on the table offering his favorite meal of rabbit and potato stew, with a bowl of fresh milk to lap it down.

Anushka awoke to the prick of a needle. The throbbing in her chest floated away along with a little part of her awareness.

“What was….?”

“It’s okay, An…. Uhhh, Sasha, time to dig, well, remove this.”

The tension in her face eased, “Thank you, Yuri.”

He already felt too deeply. For the first time, his heart—maybe his soul, overflowed. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his feelings, but he...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 5.11.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Historische Romane
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3178-1987-3 / 9798317819873