Category: Biography Publisher: Consult Logic
Type: Non-Fiction
Copyright: June 1,
Alcoholism to recovery to relapse and the adventures in between
“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.” -- Friedrich Nietzsche
The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief II – Renaissance
This is a story for anyone that has stared into the abyss.
It took about a year of trying and failing before the Mexican pulled himself out of the abyss. Then after seven years of sobriety, one... not so fine day, he picked up a drink again. If you thought that been a mercenary was an adventure(see the monsters in The Chronicles I) the story that follows is a record of even stranger adventures and travels, interesting people, some good, some bad and some downright evil. The Mexican picks up a new nickname, Gypsy, as he never stays too long in one place, roaming the Southern tip of Africa as the cards are dealt.
So, saddle up and take a ride, with The Mexican Horse Thief, if you dare.
Excerpt
We had a cat from the house behind us that used to come and hassle the marmoset, and this bugged me for some time. One day a couple of my friends and I were sitting in the lounge, drinking. The marmoset was on the patio, just outside the French doors. We had a small courtyard with a white wall around it; you could see the path the cat always took by the mud smears on that wall and on the back wall where it jumped back into its own house. I must have been thinking about this subconsciously, because that day, with no real thought, I stood up, swaying slightly as we had been drinking all day, and shouted at the cat on the patio. I had also taken out my .357. The cat took its normal route home and as it jumped the second wall, I fired one shot. This caused my drunken mates to jump, the women to complain and cry and my girlfriend to throw a fit.
Once everything had settled down, and we could continue drinking like “normal, civilised human beans”, my mates all started saying I had missed. To this I had only one comment: ‘One shot, one kill.’
A few days, or perhaps a week later, the gardener from the cat’s house was on the garage roof, just above and behind the second wall’s cat marks, with a hosepipe and a yard broom. The smell was very bad. Charmaine asked him what was up there and he replied, ‘Nee Missus, ‘n dooie kat.’ (No Madam, a dead cat.) What can I say ... that .357 was accurate and threw a mean punch.
My memories as an immigrant professional woman in Ottawa, Canada 47 years ago. A new life after having survived the liberal war of a new country Bangladesh on December 16, 1971.
This book is a collection of short stories that depict events in Author's life while she lived in Romania, then in Greece, and last in America. It's a beautiful and very sincere account of a young woman's life and comming to age.
