Orion

By Andrzej Galicki

Montreal. It is a remarkable city, filled with the tumult of conversations in all the languages of the world, the city-island surrounded by the waters of St. Lawrence river.
"Le Fleuve", as they call this great river, with tenderness, the people of Quebec in their native language. The flow begins somewhere in the land of the Great Lakes and runs through Ontario and Quebec. Before reaching the ocean, it turns into the huge bay St. Lawrence. Beluga whales and lobsters live there as it is already quite close to the ocean and it is so broad, that the other shore is hardly seen.
The Province of Quebec is inhabited mostly by people of French origin, but the city of Montreal is a very special place, where in the same street you can see Christian churches, synagogues, mosques, Hindu and Buddhist temples. People walking the streets are of all rainbow colors, also local "Gay Village" presents proudly their rainbow flags. The city itself is hard not to love it in the summer, while it is impossible to love during the harsh winter, though of course there are some winter sports enthusiasts, who think differently. The central part of the city is known as the Plateau of Montreal, a multiethnic part of the metropolitan area, where the action of a story described below takes place.
Story in which the local mob is trying to take care of money of others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrzej Galicki
• Release date: Mar 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311640734

Andrzej Galicki

Andrzej Galicki (Andre Gal - his English pen name) was born in Warsaw, where he spent his childhood and early youth. After graduating from the Faculty of Civil Engineering, a Plock branch of the Warsaw Politechnika School, he began to work as a site engineer on a number of priority construction sites, including the construction of the Central Railway Station in Warsaw.In 1980, discouraged by the prevailing social relations in the People's Republic of Poland, he left the country. He has never been a member of the Polish Communist Party and considers this to be his greatest achievement from that period of life.He lived successively in several cities (Paris, Vienna, Toronto) before permanently settlingin Montreal, where he still lives today with his wife, Marlena. He works as a designer for one of the leading engineering companies in Canada, at the planification of hydroelectric power plants, while during his free time, he engages in his literary projects.So far, he has written eight books: The Bench, Candlelight Stories, Behind the Big Water, White Valley, At the Crossroads, Zawrotna Street, Orion and It happened in Montreal, of which some are still not disponible in English. He has visited all the places described in his books with the exception of a hospital for the mentally ill (so far). The events depicted in his novels are partially veritables, but the characters appearing in them are fictitious.Besides literature, he is busy with painting, having exhibited his works in Montreal, New Jersey and New York, some of his paintings he used to provide the covers of his books. Several of them can be viewed on the website "Artsland": http://www.artslant.comHis books are available on most networks of Polish internet bookstores as well on some U.S. sites, such as amazon.comThe author cordially greets all his readers, wishing them a great time during their venture into the jungle of the best books they can find on the net.http://kindlebooksnew.com/author-3.htmlAndrzej GalickiUrodził się w Warszawie, gdzie spędził dzieciństwo i wczesną młodość.Po ukończeniu studiów na wydziale Inżynierii Lądowej płockiego oddziałuPolitechniki Warszawskiej, rozpoczął pracę w zawodzie budowlańca.Pracował jako inżynier na kilku priorytetowych budowach warszawskich,między innymi przy budowie Dworca Centralnego.W roku 1980, zniechęcony stosunkami społecznymi panującymi w PRL, wyjechał z kraju. Nigdy nie był członkiem PZPR i to uważa za swoje największe osiągnięciez tamtego okresu życia.Zamieszkiwał kolejno w kilku miastach (Paryż, Wiedeń, Toronto) zanim na stałe osiedliłsię w Montrealu, gdzie mieszka do dzisiaj ze swoją żoną Marleną.Pracuje jako projektant przy budowie elektrowni wodnych, jednocześnie zajmuje się twórczością literacką czerpiąc materiały do swoich książek ze wspomnień.Napisał osiem książek: „Ławka”, „Opowieści przy Świecach”, „Biała Dolina”, „Za Wielką Wodą”, „Na Rozdrożu”, „Ulica Zawrotna”, „Orion” oraz „Zdarzyło się w Montrealu”.Przebywał we wszystkich opisywanych przez siebie miejscach z wyjątkiem szpitala dla chorych umysłowo (jak dotychczas). Przedstawione zdarzenia są częściowo prawdziwe, natomiast postacie występujące w nich są fikcyjne.Oprócz literatury zajmuje się malarstwem, wystawiał swoje prace w Montrealu,New Jersey i w Nowym Yorku, właśnie te obrazy wykorzystuje do projektów okładek swoich książek. Niektóre z nich można obejrzeć na stronie internetowej „Artsland”:http://www.artslant.comKsiążki jego są dostępne na portalach wielu polskich księgarni internetowych,jak również na niektórych portalach amerykańskich, np. amazon.comPozdrawia serdecznie wszystkich czytelników i zaprasza do obejrzenia swojejstrony autorskiej:http://kindlebooksnew.com/

Book preview

ORION

Andrzej Galicki

ORION

Andrzej Galicki

Copyright ©2016 Andrzej Galicki

Smashwords Edition

Cover - project: Andrzej Galicki

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the editing house and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ORION

Preface

Montreal. It is a remarkable city, filled with the tumult of conversations in all the languages of the world, the city-island surrounded by the waters of St. Lawrence river, Le Fleuve, as call this great river, with tenderness, the people of Quebec in their native language. Its flow begins somewhere in the land of the Great Lakes and runs through Ontario and Quebec. Before reaching the ocean, it turns into the huge bay St. Lawrence. Beluga whales and lobsters live there as it is already quite close to the ocean and it is so broad, that the other shore is hardly seen.

The Province of Quebec is inhabited mostly by people of French origin, but the city of Montreal is a very special place, where in the same street you can see Christian churches, synagogues, mosques, Hindu and Buddhist temples. People walking the streets are of all rainbow colors, also local Gay Village presents proudly their rainbow flags. The city itself is hard not to love it in the summer, while it is impossible to love during the harsh winter, though of course there are some winter sports enthusiasts, who think differently. The central part of the city is known as the Plateau of Montreal, a multiethnic part of the metropolitan area, where the action of a story described below takes place.

Wishing you a pleasant reading,

Author

Table of contents

1. Pierre

2. Sara

3. Roxana

4. Boss

5. Orion

Other books by Andrzej Galicki (Andre Gal)

1. Pierre

Pierre

Pierre was sitting on the balcony of his apartment located on this quiet street of Montreal, drinking his favorite Molson beer straight from the bottle, one small sip after another, happy and unhurried. A bitter-sweet taste of Canadian beer always created in him a good humor, and Pierre liked to be in a good mood, so a proper supply of this divine drink was a must under his roof.

Only two things were able to put Pierre in a bad mood, indeed, could lead him to a fury: first, when the government was late with his welfare check - this after all, is their bloody duty, those fucking officials with ties, to watch that he, Pierre per majuscule P, had always, every month, at the same time, his money in the bank. And the fact that these bastards do not work properly, it is not his, Pierre’s, fault and someone should smash their faces when they were too sluggish fulfill their obligations.

The other thing that was able to put Pierre in a bad mood was, when someone stupid, usually someone who did not know him well, casually threw a seemingly innocent question: And actually, why don’t you work?

Idiot, to ask such a stupid question and naively wait for an answer, if it was really a simple matter to answer. Pierre was immediately furious by the subject. How can you answer this, when the answer does not exist. He had tried not just once to think about this dilemma, and only one solution came to his mind: That only losers work, the best occupation he knew was collecting checks for the welfare and his reluctance to get up every day and rush to work was so natural and unforced that only someone completely fool could ask him a question so utterly meaningless.

I do not work because I do not have to, you asshole, he was tempted to exclaim with anger. One should think before asking stupidity like this, just think, a little bit at least. Some could consider, for sure, that all men are created equal, some Marxist, or other mentally disturbed idiot. And if he thought only a little bit more, if once in his lifetime, he scratched his head and thought more logically, he could realize that, in every country, on every continent there are always two classes of people. This stupid, working class, and that better one, which does not need to work. So it was, is and will always be, and is what there still to think about? He could realize that if the Canadian government pays its social benefits without complaint, it would be a sin to work. They pay not much, it's true, probably those white shirt bureaucrats are stealing a half this way, and it is a problem which should be dealt absolutely. Or, maybe, it’s better to leave it alone, as these parasites will appoint a committee of dudes like themselves and grab even more, and then, it will definitely be difficult to make ends meet. They should just do their business properly and so it that Pierre’s money was always on time at the ATM, that they are paid for, that’s it.

Oh, wait, there was still the third thing that irritated Pierre unspeakably. But that happened only once a year, when the damn Greek, owner of the building where he lived, suddenly decided to raise the rent for the apartment, always unexpectedly high. The hell with them, these immigrants. They come here uninvited, work like idiots from dawn to dusk stealing jobs from Canadians and at the end buying houses, whole streets, and how you can live like a decent man, when you have to pay such money for rent? Those are different: Italians, Greeks, Jews, Poles, even the Vietnamese, who fled Vietnam with bamboo boats, running with an entire family a little restaurant or grocery store and collecting through the years dollar after dollar only to buy a revenue building in the city. And you, an honest man, have to live later in his flat and pay him the rent that always is too high. With this someone should do something as well. So much money for a small flat on the third floor, right under the roof, and it is for the rent alone, without heating. When the winter comes, a man must pay for his heating himself, and Montreal is not Florida, exactly what over there is above zero, here is below. And when the gas furnace breaks, it breaks down always exactly in the winter time. Such stoves are constructed this way, to break in the winter, they want you to pay for the repair. And wait for the landlord to repair it? Good luck, you will freeze to death before it is done.

Pierre took another swig from the bottle. Yes, it's a Molson beer. Not the same pipi like Budweiser produced in the United States. Maybe not so much different in flavour, but always for the real Kanuk it is a Canadian product. But why is beer so expensive anyway? In the US, it costs cheaper. Sure, once again, those damn taxes. So why do Americans pay them less than Canadians? Had Grandfather of Pierre worked all his life in Molson brewery to let this damn government rob his offspring of everything that he owns, with the help of their taxes? One hand gives, the other takes away. One offers, the second grabs. And so, over and over again, endlessly, to not let you die, yet make your life as hard as it gets. And it is without owning a car. If Pierre had a car, he maybe would have to give up the beer, like this idiot Michel did, a real nightmare, better perhaps to die. But a car? It is not necessary, to the nearest corner store is just a five minutes walk. And the trouble with the parking? Especially in the winter, oh the hell with a car, life is difficult enough without it.

It was at this exact time, on the opposite side of the street, that the red sports car of a European brand stopped. What mark? Pierre did not know, as he did not know too much about European cars.

The driver's door slowly opened. First appeared her legs. Long, slender legs, reaching up to mini skirt, which fortunately little-occupied space. Then the whole Roxana neatly emerged from inside the vehicle.

What a chick! Pierre thought greedily eyeing dip notched blouse of his neighbor, from the opposite site of the street. Oh, she has what to breathe with, the little beast. I would invite her for a beer here, to me, but she will not even look at the straight man like me. And, it is once again by this goddamn government, too much money they are stealing from me along the way. Because if I had Italian shoes, suit and silk tie, she would have looked at me. Strange, every time when she stops this red firecracker here, there is always free space waiting for her in front of the house? Is it a kind of magic, or what?

At this point, the chick (as he called her usually in his dirty mind) looked up and Pierre saw two sparks of pupils over her sunglasses.

Whoa, she looked at me, he thought suddenly panicked. Instinctively, he raised his hand to his face and felt under the fingers a three-day stubble beard. Maybe I should shave more often, he thought, when you live in such a neighborhood, you have to keep the class. But actually why? Indiana Jones also ran unshaven and what? In the movies was he shown, even on TV. Today is a fashion unshaven, all the way around, only suckers to shave.

Relieved, he produced the grimacing face copied from his favorite movie star and drank another sip of Molson. He watched as Roxana slammed her red car’s door gracefully with her sexy ass and walked toward the front entrance of her building, holding in her hand a plastic grocery bag.

What a chick! Echoed Pierre in his mind, I would give a lot to have some fun with her.

Roxana meanwhile entered the internal stairs of the building where she lived and mounted on her slender legs to the first floor.