Two Short Shorts

By Mark Fine

PRE-LAUNCH REVIEWS

“I enjoyed the “Karmic Odds” short story tremendously. Structure, style, content, everything, just perfect, and lots of fruit for thought. Yip, is it not true that the very things that attract, sooner or later become repulsive. I think it’s all about personal space… not having enough to grow to full potential.” – Martie Coetser Pozyn

“With the same adept use of prose he shows in his full length novel, The Zebra Affaire, Fine weaves a tale that is both compelling and disturbing. This is where the author spins his best magic web. Kudos to Mark Fine for not only driving in the knife to the hilt but twisting it skillfully, and making me almost jump up and shout out “hurray”! – Elizabeth Newton

“Some of the humor in the book is wonderful, from ‘Karmic Odds’: “food being served with the delicacy of a panel beater at an auto body shop” – “the gadget looked like the progeny of an otherworldly romantic liaison between a vacuum cleaner and a gum ball machine.” – Claire Hamlisch

“Another wonderful collection of short stories coming from a talented author at Readers Circle of Avenue Park. The stories are wildly different. Like ‘Mark of the Hyena,’ a story of a disdainful social science guru meeting his match in a San Bushman. And no matter how hard I tried to figure it out, I was surprised every time by the clever endings. Bravo!” – Ulla H

“An amazing adventure of short stories that has a little something for everyone. My favorite was Mark of the Hyena, due to the sheer nature of deceit offered. Each story takes between 20-30 minutes to read and will leave you 100% satisfied.” – Grimm

“’Mark of the Hyena’ is from this writer’s perspective written in the most enviable prose style.” – Jason Greensides

An incorrigible researcher, author Mark Fine  immigrated to America from South Africa, in an effort to understand what it means to be ‘a stranger in a strange land’. The stories in this folio are not autobiographical, nevertheless they reflect Mark’s stated belief, “Whether a square peg out of water or a fish in a round hole; at best it is awkward, or at worst, it can be downright deadly.”

An O. Henry and Roald Dahl fan, Mark has found short stories to be life’s rich filler amidst the stuff of boredom and routine. However, those dull lulls between lurches of hyperactivity are opportunities for creative escapism. All that’s needed is a short story, a quiet moment, and the reader’s lusty pleasure in the written word.

• Language: English
• Publisher: READERS CIRCLE of AVENUE PARK
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386587422

Mark Fine

When first speaking to author Mark Fine, one is struck by his accent. His voice is measured, and spoken with the properness of a long suffering boarding school inmate. Indeed, from age eight until seventeen Mark lived several hundred miles away from his Johannesburg home, near the coastal city of Durban. Boarding school prepared him well for his tour of duty in South Africa’s Navy Signal Corp. There he learned Morse code and touch-typing. The latter "military skill" was the first step toward becoming an author. A successful music industry career led Fine from Minneapolis, New York and then Los Angeles. Through global music giant PolyGram, Mark founded Hammer & Lace Records in 1993. The label had a unique mandate: to be the industry’s only imprint dedicated to highlighting specific social or health issues by creating benefit albums that promoted awareness and could save lives. For a decade Fine proved adept at uniting non-profit organizations, corporate and media sponsors, and world class musicians such as Sheryl Crow, Sting, Melissa Etheridge, Bryan Adams and Boyz ll Men in aid of breast cancer research, at-risk children, the blind, HIV/AIDS, freedom of speech and wildlife conservation. For these initiatives Mark was voted by Variety Magazine as the “Music Executive with 20/20 Vision”.  For his efforts in the fight against breast cancer, he has been honored by the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston. But he is especially proud of his "Paws of Fame" award he received from The Wildlife Waystation for his commitment to animals worldwide. As such, animals always make an appearance in Mark Fine's writings. As he had reached a new point in his life, Fine took on the task of showing the world a snapshot of his metaphorical backyard. In the process of painting with words his own backyard, Mark Fine has been brave like William Faulkner in his journey of truth telling – he has simply done it with a much different kind of Southern accent. Fine has created a world in The Zebra Affaire that tells the truth of his home via the freedom fiction provides. He puts human faces and hearts into his pages, and as we follow their loves, trials, and conflicts, we find this incredible story of the human condition as it endures some of the most unspeakable horrors. 

Book preview

Karmic Odds

Driving makes me hungry , you see. That day, I’d rescued a bag of Mustard & Honey pretzels stuck behind the passenger seat. Wish I hadn’t. When I ripped the snack open with my teeth, I nearly killed myself. Wow! The stench smacked me in the face like a rancid mop. Puke jetted up my throat. The stupid car swerved. Don’t laugh. You should try it; trying to control puke and a wild car ride at the same time. Anyhow, that killed off my appetite. But I still had a long drive ahead of me.

Work had been lousy. Now it was rush hour traffic. Rush hour, my foot: more like sludge hour... I felt like a wooly mammoth trapped in the La Brea Tar Pits. Miles of gas fumes from cars and trucks made my nauseous feeling worse. Then, I began to sweat. First, I thought it was the smelly exhausts. Unfortunately not, instead, it was a full-on panic attack.

You have no idea how often I’ve had to call 911. Convinced it was the mother of all heart attacks, sure to switch out my lights. Ambulances, emergency rooms, doctors, EKGs, and the trauma of health insurance; I’ve done the whole shebang. Even gone so far as to pray, and murmur my hellos to long lost loved ones—thinking I would soon be seeing them. Still, I’m embarrassed when doctors explain the cause of my chest pain and shortness of breath is only a panic attack. All that bloody drama for nothing. 

But now I’ve got myself a new problem. What happens if it is a real heart attack? And I do nothing thinking it’s only anxiety. Hmmm, a weird twist on the ol’ boy cried wolf story, maybe. I hope not...

Anyway, I had panicked for a reason. My wife really hates it when I’m late. Especially when she’s made a home-cooked meal. Boy, does she play the martyr card. I’m sabotaging her cooking. I’m so inconsiderate. Then she cranks up the guilt-thing. I should try being a latchkey bride stuck at home all day.

Surviving these rants in our small kitchen, with the clatter of dishes slammed about, is quite a challenge. Until you’ve experienced it, there’s nothing like witnessing her serve dinner. She does it with the delicacy of a panel beater hammering a dented car at an auto body shop.

Of course, that evening I arrived late. Immediately I switched into survival mode.

Honey, I’m home. I sang sweetly from just inside the front door. Silence. I edged forward, my briefcase at the ready; for fear a fusillade of knick-knacks was headed my way. I’ve had to dodge the odd coffee mug in our marital past.

An unexpected welcome greeted me. There stood my wife, ever so quietly. She looked patient, demure, dare I say, even coquettish. Hmm, love that word ‘coquettish’—the English language can be so charming. She pecked me affectionately on the cheek, and then steered me to the dining room. After she placed a linen napkin on my lap, my wife seemed to take a keen interest in my boring day.

To be honest, this triggered alarms in my kopf—my head; this was quite unlike her. Look, our relationship was still lusty in bed, but everything else was a mess. We’d eventually declared a truce by agreeing to communicate less—mind you, not what therapists would recommend. Nevertheless, a state of hostility shared in civilized silence was much better than the constant bickering.

That evening Roxanne chatted chirpily about this and that. It was rather pleasant. Actually, it reminded me of dinner conversations with my dear mother—just the language was different.

No longer anxious, my appetite came back with vengeance. So I focused my attention on the steak fajita dish in front of me. It smelled amazing and I began to eat. Fork. Knife. Chew. Repeat. My that woman’s a fine cook.

Bang!

Her fist slammed on the table, hard. I almost had that heart attack.

Damnit, Gerhard. Stop it! Her face reddened as she straightened her martinet back. I’ve had enough already... Look at me!

Call it stubborn, but chastised as if a child is something I detest. Seething, I focused on the salad bowl in front of me. Its rim had a new chip and that kinda bugged me.

How long have you lived in this country, anyway? she asked.

Honestly, I didn’t hear the question. I was more interested in the reason for her outburst. On the phone earlier that day, we’d clashed over—of all things, refried beans. Look, um, not to be a snob, but I don’t believe that mush is meant to be fed to humans. Roxanne disagreed. Eventually I compromised. This meant I would get dished up the slop at dinnertime. Lucky me...

To be fair I’d been picking my way around the