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    Injun Summer
    Injun Summer
    Injun Summer
    Ebook66 pages57 minutes

    Injun Summer

    By J.T. Evergreen

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    About this ebook

    Injun Summer is the tale of an American warrior who was plucked from a desert siege by a mysterious priest who disappeared immediately after saving Mike Faraday from certain death. Haunted by the vision of his seven Special Forces comrades slaughtered before his eyes, Mike continues to be tormented in his search for the reason why he was spared.
    Persistent nightmares cripple Mike from leading a normal life after he is discharged from the Army. Marriage and children seem to be out of the question while this affliction persists.
    But then a moment of hope arises when the priest appears once again at the local Woodfield Mall and directs Mike and his Army buddy to a suicide bomber on the verge of blowing himself up in the main hall of the mall. Mike and Russ are successful in preventing the attack.
    Revenge by members of the terrorist group, a pretty waitress from an Italian restaurant, Russ, and a bumbling undercover cop are drawn together as the tale climaxes and then comes to a happy conclusion when, under the guidance of the priest, the illusion of American Indians, descending from the heavens and dancing around a campfire in an adjacent meadow are joined by Mike’s deceased Special Forces comrades who have come to bid Mike farewell and to assure him he is not responsible for bringing them to their physical end in the desert.
    The final scene of this tale has the priest giving his benediction from above the gathering and disappearing into the night.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJ.T. Evergreen
    Release dateFeb 8, 2019
    ISBN9780463960387
    Injun Summer
    Author

    J.T. Evergreen

    OCCUPATION - Retired from the grind. Reflecting on successes, failures, and regrets. Exploring new aspects of self, writing that book which will get me an Oscar, staying out of trouble - well, small amounts of trouble are ok. Bringing joy into people's lives with random acts of kindness - the ones who aren't expecting it are the best. Cheering up check-out clerks at WalMart.ABOUT ME - Alone in blessed singleness. Wicked sense of humor, enjoy my own company, glad I'm not young any longer. I do miss the intimacy of being in love. A good catch . . . at least I think so. Enjoy the possibilities of every moment, an imagination that won't quite, a master weaver - give away everything I make, excellent portrait painter, a national treasure - though no one agrees with me, a good listener, intuitive, a good conversationalist, avoid boredom and boring people at all costs - that's a career all by itself.INTERESTS - Intelligent conversation: hard to come by these days, metaphysics, mysticism, my pups - Charlie, Max, and Bailey, seeing the funny side of life, going to Macy's at Christmas time - kicking Santa and punching an Elf. If I had a singing voice, which I don't, I would sing all of the time, wherever I was - even in WalMart. Wouldn't that be enchanting? When I receive the Oscar for the book I'm writing, I will have some baritone sing On A Clear Day, and I will lip sync his voice. It will wow the audience.PUBLICATIONS – Short Stories to celebrate the NEW YEAR - 23 delightful short stories; Alone at the Beach 25 short stories to keep you company, Home Alone, 8 Great Stories to keep you company, Born in the Twilight, Injun Summer, This’nThat, Short Stories for a Summer’s Day. Holiday Short Stories, With All My Love, Father Frederick Monahan, Shangri la, Stepping Stones to God, I’m Gay Mother – Get Over it, The Olde Book Shoppe, Naked Before God, The Italian Call Boy, The Silence of Healing, Death of a Pope, The Best Short Stories Ever, and My Love Affair with Father Tomas McTavish, working on a new character, Father Gibbon with Sister Mary Magda in TheAdventure of Father Gibbon with Sister M. Magda - it's about murder. I get choked up when I re-read some of my sentimental stories. I’m told that’s a sign of being a good writer.LOVES - Color and lots of it, strawberry jam, hiking up Yosemite Falls, Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco, sourdough bread, only made in San Francisco. Hearst Castle, Big Sur, sea air, Adams peanut butter, chocolate milk, rainy days, canaries singing, chocolate chip cookies my mother made, Greek yogurt with honey - oh, yum. Laughter. I make it a point of doing this many times a day.HATES - Stupidity, insensitivity, bad table manners - come on, how difficult is it to hold a fork properly - it's not a shovel for God's sake. Snow, ice, slush, freeway traffic, lima beans - what was God thinking, sleepless nights, people who are late, texting - it's a cop-out, tobacco, alcohol, red meat,FAVORITE BOOKS - The Spiritual Journey of Joel S. Goldsmith, How to Win Friends and Influence People - I collect this book and give them to people I hate - there's a waiting list.FAVORITE MUSIC – Let's Talk Dirty to the Animals – Gilda Radner - funny lady;; Joplin’s Peachrine, Ahmad Jamal - Country Tour - the absolute best jazz - never tire of it. Someone Waits for You – Carly Simons, Helen Kane singing Button Up Your Overcoat and I Want to Be Bad – I relate to the lyrics. And the Tenor who sang Springtime for Hitler in the Zero Mostel version of The Producers. No one seems to know who he is. What a voice.FAVORITE FILMS – The Celluloid Closet, Witness for the Prosecution, It Could Happen to You, Maltese Falcon, Inherit the Wind, 12 Angry Men, Harold and Maude, Murder on the Orient Express, Hope and Glory, Sorry Wrong Number, Speed, Practical Magic, Apollo 13, Where the Red Fern Grows, The original Producers - touch me, hold me - Estelle was terrific, and Zero - what can I say.FAVORITE TV SHOWS - I don't watch TV any more, but when I did . . . 2-1/2 men - when it was good. Everybody loves Raymond - some great writers; best sight gagsFAVORITE QUOTES – The poetry in writing is the illusion it creates: by me. Lord Chesterfield: “Sex: the pleasure is momentary, the position ridiculous, and the expense damnable.” The saddest words of tongue or pen are these - It might have been - indeed they are. If you want to make a success out of old age, you better start now: my mother when I was 15. On a clear day, you really can see forever - you just have to look. I may be rancid butter, but I'm on your side of the bread. Inherit the Wind.FAMILY – A father who was emotionally absent, a mother who provided all the necessities of life and nothing more. An older brother who is a classic socio-psychopath and made my childhood a misery. I hide from everything just to survive. My right of passage came when I was 18 and joined the Naval Air Reserves. In boot camp I hide in the back row the first day, and guess whose name they called to be the Company Commander – me. But it was the best thing that could have happened and I bless that moment. I had to lead those 50 plus men and boys for 90 days. The night of graduation we drilled in front of the audience and it was perfect. The guys carried me from the hangar in triumph. I came out of the shadows that summer and never went back. I'm a louse when it comes to cleaning house, too many other more enjoyable things to do.“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor WitShall lure it back to cancel half a Line,Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”Omar Khayyam

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      Book preview

      Injun Summer - J.T. Evergreen

      Acknowledgements

      Many thanks to Khris Lawrentz for his tireless proofreading.

      The Desert

      Mike Faraday laid the Sunday edition of the Chicago Tribune on his library table and pulled out the insert featuring the McCutcheon illustration of Injun Summer. It was like an old friend appearing each year as the season changed from summer to autumn.

      He was thirty-five years old and pondered how quickly the years were passing, two directionless years of college and then twelve years in the Army. He remembered reading the qualifications required to wear the Green Beret. His six-foot-two, two-hundred-thirty-five-pound frame, along with his martial arts training, football, and wrestling experience would qualify and sustained him through the rigorous physical training. The other requirements would challenge the very fiber of his being. But he knew, becoming a member of Special Forces would give him the direction he lacked. He signed up.

      He glanced at the portrait hanging over his desk of his Grandfather, Michael Faraday, the famous English scientist. Friends often remarked on Mike’s uncanny resemblance to the portrait. The painting illustrated a relaxed and confident man. Mike was envious.

      Max, his seven-pound Havanese pup, trotted into the room with his red ball gripped firmly in his mouth. He sat down and stared at Mike. His relentless stare could not be ignored for long. Mike turned and smiled at his four-year-old companion. Max dropped his ball and stood up, tail wagging furiously. Mike hesitated, waiting for the impatient growl that would come. When it came, Mike leaned over, picked up the ball and threw it through the open doorway. It hit the wall, ricocheted down the hallway and bounced down the recreational room stairs. It would be a while before Max returned.

      Mike sighed as the memory returned to the mysterious man who appeared in the Iraqi desert at the moment he thought he would die. The overwhelming attack on his eight-man unit left him helpless in the onslaught. He knew these men better than any other on the face of the planet. They had lived and trained together, they were so in tune with one another it defied description. Seven times they had been deployed to the Middle East on successful missions the world would never hear about and now this overwhelming failure. One by one he saw his men slaughtered in the midst of a hail of gunfire. Then this man in black was there, calm, and smiling at Mike. He beckoned him to follow, leading him to safety.

      The sight of his team members dying in front of him instilled a rage and anger within him which he was unable to dispel. He was their leader and he failed them miserably. But who was this man who calmly led him to safety, and why didn’t he save the others? Why me, was the never-ending question which plagued him, giving him no rest with persistent nightmares. He often thought it would have been better if he had died with his men. Living with the memories was like a millstone around his neck. Would he ever be rid of it?

      The only thing he could remember about the stranger, outside of being dressed in black, was the cross that hung from his neck. It had the rosy color of solid gold, encrusted with green gems which sparkled in the desert sun. Then he was gone. Mike wasn't sure if he walked away or disappeared, it happened so fast. From that day forward he was ever alert to the possibility of seeing this man again. Even as a civilian, he searched crowds he passed through with the hope he would see him, talk with him, thank him, learn from him, ask him the million and one questions in his mind, and find out why he saved Michael Phillip Faraday and not the other brave men of his unit.

      Max growled, repeatedly staring at his ball and then at Mike, his way of pointing. Mike picked up the ball and threw it again. A few more throws and he would have to leave for a meeting with friends at the Woodfield Mall for lunch, and early Christmas shopping. They were going to try Zia’s, an Italian restaurant they had heard so much about.

      The Terrorist

      A young perky waitress, whose tastefully displayed cleavage did not go unnoticed, seated the five men at a large window overlooking the main concourse of the mall. My name is Adrianna, and I’ll be serving you this afternoon. She smiled as she passed out menus before excusing herself. I’ll be right back, all eyes followed her as she departed. The Italian costume she wore could not

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