Human value. They say that money solves everything in the world. They say that human welfare does not allow this. You cannot do anything without money. No matter how much knowledge you have, you cannot live without money. Even those who acquire this knowledge sell it for money, and the owner of clear knowledge is left behind.
A child of an ordinary person has the most knowledge, but a child of a rich man knows nothing.
Why are you always a rich man’s son? Why do you say that if a man with money is his father. Did you see, my friends, this story of mine will still be answered in the Day of Judgement.
Bukhara region Jondor district of the 30th school 8th “a” class student Maftuna Rustamova
No midday warmth shields us from the chill of our shadows,
No dreams to drag us to sleep
Our house, rooted in the heart of the storm—
We were the first to leave it,
The last to enter, to sit in the folds of its corners
Like used pencils,
Staring at a heater,
Its oil dwindling,
Leaning shyly, against the chest of the wall.
We have nothing from our father but all of him
From our mother,
the warmth her Abaya that we moved to and from
The glow of our souls
Our burps from fullness,
The acceleration of our pulse at the crossroads of stories,
And her whispering,
“Sleep! We fell asleep.
By Faleeha Hassan
She is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq. She received her master’s degree in Arabic literature and has now published 27 books. Her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian. She is a Pulitzer Prize Nominee for 2018 and a Pushcart Prize Nominee for 2019.
Faleeha is a member of the International Writers and Artists Association, a winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ Magazine 2020, the winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021), a member of the Women of Excellence selection committees for 2023, a winner of a Women in the Arts award for 2023, a member of Who’s Who in America 2023, on the judging panel for the 2023 Sahitto Award, the winner of the HerStory Award from the Women’s Federation for World Peace New Jersey 2024, a Cultural Ambassador between Iraq and the USA since 2018, a Cultural Ambassador and worldwide literary advisor for PEN CRAFT Bangladesh.
She is also honored to be appointed as a 2024 Peace Ambassador by the Universal Peace Federation and to be a member of The Founding Mothers Global Women’s Congress 2024. You may email Faleeha Hassan at d.fh88@yahoo.com
Madelyn Zimmer inherited 350 million dollars from a father whom she had never met. Her mother Lily didn’t marry the man, claimed she only knew him briefly; a love affair that lasted less than four months, as far as Madelyn knew. And, that he had not touched base with either Lily or his daughter since learning of his lover’s pregnancy.
Mom had led a quiet single-parent lifestyle focused on her work as owner/operator of a small hair and nail salon in San Jose, the heart of Silicon Valley. When Madelyn was a young girl, she’d lay in bed gazing up through the skylight at the shimmering stars and imagine her father showing up one day and snuggling her in his arms while he read to her from her favorite picture book. His voice was deep and warm. More than once, she had dreamed of having a picnic with him, sitting on a plaid blanket, surrounded by colorful wildflowers, on a hill overlooking a lake. The same dream came and went for years while growing up but she could never quite make out his face. But his voice was always deep and warm. As Madelyn moved into her teens, she pushed the thought of a father she never had out of her mind.
Although her yearning for him was buried inside, it was still there. She felt it holding her back from feeling fully confident and self-worthy. Her mom seemed to get agitated and change the subject when Madelyn would ask questions about her father, which led to her ceasing her inquires. Instead, Madelyn focused on her education, school activities and crafting her future.
It was two years after Mom died of uterine cancer when thirty-five-year-old Madelyn had the check in hand from Maxwell Huntington’s estate.
Her father’s estate attorney, Darien Peters had tracked Madelyn down on her cell phone and informed her of Huntington’s death and of her 350-million-dollar windfall inheritance. Her reaction was an audible gasp and then a loud noise emanating from the bottom of her throat, a guttural sound that she had never heard come from her own body. She felt embarrassed and awkward with the man on the phone. The thought flashed in her mind that it was some joke being played by one of her work friends or gym buddies.
Darien Peters offered more information about her father; that Huntington had been a network television mogul living in New York City, well-known for producing a number of top-rated Emmy award-winning shows. He was killed a week ago in a helicopter crash while on vacation in Costa Rica. Behind the scenes he had kept track of Madelyn, the daughter he had never met who was living in California. Madelyn wondered if her mom had been in contact with her father after their brief time as lovers. It was the secret her mother had taken to her grave. Madelyn chose not to ask the estate attorney, respecting her dead mother’s privacy. And maybe part of Madelyn didn’t truly want to know the answer.
When the attorney told her that he’d fly from New York City to meet her at her financial institution in California to hand deliver the cashier’s check, Madelyn started to take his words more seriously.
He gave her his telephone number and email address before closing the conversation and said that a certified letter would be in her hands by the end of the day, officially informing her of the amount of money coming to her.
After the call ended, she googled Darien Peters and indeed he was a high-end New York estate attorney. Then she googled Maxwell Huntington, the name vaguely familiar from captions that scrolled quickly at the end of numerous television shows. She found dozens of references about him, including links to lengthy feature stories. She read at least ten articles, none mentioning a spouse or children. The articles were about his Emmy awards, his single lifestyle and a video interview with him on 20/20. He looked to be a bit overweight, with a similar turned up nose like Madelyn’s, a head of unruly dark hair, wore tortoise shell eye glasses and had the same deep brown eyes she saw in the mirror every day upon waking. Madelyn played the fifteen minute video of her father three times back-to-back, mesmerized by his quiet charisma, his voice soft, deep and gentle as she had imagined. He had a casual easy conversational style, although dressed in a buttoned up starched white shirt, dark suit, and blue and white striped tie. Like her, he had a way of tilting his head slightly, closing his eyes for just a second when he was thinking carefully about his answer to a question.
If only she could have known him. Why had he stayed in the shadows all those years?
When the letter arrived at her door later that day, she signed for it and then eased herself onto the living room carpet, read it aloud to herself, and cried like a baby, wishing her mother who died almost penniless was there to experience what just happened. At thirty-five years old, Madelyn Zimmer became a whopping multi-millionaire.
The day after she banked the $350 million, she connected with a big firm money manager and agreed the safest yet high dividend investments. The thought of being responsible for hundreds of millions of dollars dizzied her mind. She was used to tracking and reporting on other people’s money, corporate money, not her own modest assets.
Before Madelyn could do anything else the story broke in Bay area newspapers; then on national television, spreading across social media like wild fire and featured in a CNN news story.
“Maxwell Huntington’s long-lost daughter, thirty-five-year-old Madelyn Zimmer, raised modestly by a hairdresser in Northern California, a daughter he reportedly never met, has inherited a sizeable portion of his estate,” the CNN reporter said. “The rest of his fortune, going to his alma mater, Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism.”
Print and social media headlines went from LONG-LOST DAUGHTER STRIKES IT RICH to WEST COAST LOVE CHILD ZIMMER INHERITS WINDFALL. Luckily, the photo of Madelyn featured with every story was taken when she was twenty-seven-years old and didn’t look like her any more at thirty-five. In the photo, her hair was short and frizzy, her weight twenty-five pounds heavier and she wore black-rimmed eyeglasses, her teeth crooked. She had no idea how or why the press latched onto such an outdated photograph but she was thankful. Over the past seven years she had completely transformed her look, losing weight, switching from eyeglasses to contact lenses, her hair chemically straightened and her teeth fixed with braces that she wore for two years in her late twenties. Although she had worked hard on her physical appearance, morphing herself into what would traditionally be called fairly attractive, Madelyn had little desire to be in the limelight. She had chosen Finance as her field of study and then pursued a corporate career in Silicon Valley. Her steady goal was to have significant influence but remain in the background as the financial guru, which was usually the primary force behind any business success story. The behind-the-scenes role would provide the visibility that suited her comfort level.
Once the inheritance went public, she received numerous phone calls from distant friends and acquaintances as well as emails from extended family members she barely knew. In each conversation or text, she could sense a faux interest for her well-being, each one with the undertone of “what can you do for me now that you’ve struck it rich?”
Her visceral reaction to her circumstances was mostly one of fear and anxiety. She had a hard time sleeping at night. At work, people she barely knew from other departments outside her Finance function stopped her in the hallway, asking personal questions.
“Congratulations, but what will you do now with all that money?” an HR person asked her.
“Would you like to talk to my brother, a stockbroker, about your investments?” an Engineering manager inquired. “He’s so good. You’d really like him and who knows?”
A nice-looking man in Purchasing said “Let’s have lunch this week,” He winked, touched her forearm and grinned. “I’d like to hear all about your windfall. Truth be told, I’ve always hoped to have lunch with you.”
The questions didn’t seem to stop. Each time, she’d become frustrated, her nerves on fire.
“Sorry, I’m already late for my next meeting,” she’d typically say, then turn away rushing down the corridor.
The elation of suddenly being ridiculously wealthy never struck Madelyn.
She needed to get away and so, she acted quickly, quit her job and booked a long trip. She left home three weeks after receiving the inheritance with one suitcase in hand and a plan to traverse the globe solo for six months. She flew to London, then Paris, Barcelona, Rome, Sydney, Australia and then across continents to Rio de Janeiro; experienced places she had only dreamed about. She stayed a few weeks in each location, hoping to get lost in the local culture. She mostly kept to herself during her travels, doing museums, parks, sometimes taking a train to an obscure town off the beaten track. When she’d spend more than an hour with someone who approached her for a chat at a coffee shop or restaurant, she couldn’t help but question whether they secretly knew of her inheritance and it would be only a matter of time until they’d somehow connive to acquire some slice of her fortune. She had become paranoid even though far from home, jumpy when approached by strangers.
One of the last legs of her six-month trip was a flight from Rio to New York City where she embarked on a two-week cruise to Boston, Maine, Nova Scotia, and ending in Quebec City, Canada. She stayed a few nights at the majestic Chateau Frontenac hotel overlooking the St. Lawrence River and finally flew back home to Northern California. Madelyn’s ‘around the world’ adventure had consumed a total of 188 days.
Her plan was to somehow settle down again, get a new job and live as normal a life as possible. When she opened the front door to her beach cottage, unpacked and laid down in her own bed staring at the ceiling, she realized that she had no interest in returning to her once coveted Finance career. She had busted her butt and acquired an MBA degree in her twenties while working long hours, nights and often weekends to pay off thousands of dollars in student loans. Along the way, she had received incremental salary increases from her high-tech employer and just a month prior to her abrupt resignation, her manager told her that she was perceived as a high potential employee and on an accelerated path to a management position.
But the passion she once had for excelling in corporate had faded during her six-month hiatus and within that first hour back home, she knew that she was done with the grueling Silicon Valley lifestyle, finished with analyzing numbers, producing spreadsheets, and presenting to executives who were often in denial of any signs of downturn in their business. She certainly didn’t need to work anymore with $350 million working for her. At least she had come to terms with that fact.
Once she made the decision, she spent most of her days taking long walks by the California coast, getting to know her neighborhood, the beachy area where she lived but had never taken the time to explore. She hoped to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. Her once close friends who either worked in the corporate world, or in retail and weren’t around on weekdays. She had basically become disconnected from people, something she knew she had brought upon herself. A few friends would still write her a text now and then, or leave a message, still asking what she was going to do with all that money. She felt more alone than ever before, and lost.
The press had mostly retreated except for one dogged journalist who left her voicemails twice a week still wishing to be granted an interview. She sensed that as soon as she started dating someone or did anything of significance in her life, more journalists would surface. And that would be a nightmare. Yet there was a fire inside her yearning for change, for something stimulating, something wild.
She did day hikes in the hills and took on a few challenging trails in the Santa Cruz Mountains. A few times she drove the eighty miles to San Francisco and did the strenuous walk from Market Street where the cable cars begin their journey up the notoriously steep hills and then sharply downhill to Fisherman’s Wharf. At the wharf, she’d hop the ferry to Sausalito, the boat passing the small island where the old Alcatraz prison sat. When she looked out at the infamous landmark, she felt like she had created her own prison in some way, cutting herself off from other humans; crafting a life of seclusion and loneliness.
Other than walks, hikes and short excursions she often felt bored, lacking a focus on anything beyond the day at hand. She had casually dated a couple of men before the inheritance but didn’t feel that she could trust any man now. And there was no one man she really felt compelled to re-connect with although she did miss the casual sex she had while dating. Both men had left messages once they heard that she was back in town but she hadn’t called them back.
One cloudy afternoon, at a break between rainstorms, Madelyn decided to do a walk on the beach path which started just steps from her cottage. The sky was a dreary grey, darker clouds hanging over the horizon in the distance and the forecast was for more scattered showers later that afternoon. But she needed to get outside and feel alive after three straight days of heavy rain.
She put on a black hooded jacket, the cruise line insignia embroidered on its breast pocket, a tiny white silhouette of a ship with a colorful rainbow stitched just above it. It was the jacket a cruise line staff officer named Marco had gifted her on her voyage two weeks ago from New York to Quebec City. Marco was the ship’s entertainment director on the ship and had taken an visible liking to Madelyn. He was an attractive, charismatic Italian in his early forties with a tall, slender body, but wore a thin gold wedding ring. She was flattered and let her guard down a little around him, more than she had done since the inheritance. To attempt to get her interested in having a drink alone with him in his cabin, Marco had given her the black insignia jacket, the color that only the ship’s officers wore off duty on board when not in their nautical dress whites. Madelyn had admired the jacket, mentioned it to Marco, and gladly accepted it as a gift but didn’t accept his invitation for the private drink or dinner.
But on the last night of the cruise, Madelyn caved and let him kiss her passionately in the dark under the stars on a lounge chair on the top deck, letting his hands go everywhere under her short black velvet dress. After being in his arms for close to an hour, he pleaded with her to come to his cabin. She resisted. She slid her fingers a few times over his wedding ring, extricated herself from his embrace and stood from the lounge chair. She bent down to kiss him on the cheek, quickly left the scene and spent the rest of the night alone in her stateroom. She didn’t want to be a woman who encouraged a married man to cheat. That had always been a basic principle for her as a single woman.
As she zipped up the cruise jacket before leaving her house at the beach, Madelyn thought fondly of Marco. Maybe she should have slept with him. It had been tempting at the time, her limbs longing for a sexual encounter after so long without one. But she hadn’t. Right decision, she thought to herself as she ventured out down the winding beach path dressed in her gray washed out jeans, a long sleeve thermal top, her weather-proof walking boots, and her long dark hair tied back under a red knit cap.
The beach path was empty except for an older couple probably in their mid-60’s who walked along the path towards her, and were holding hands. Both wore what looked like matching tan rain jackets, their hoods raised over their heads. Once close to her, the gray-haired man stopped and smiled. “Hey there,” he said, “do you work for Candalabra Cruise Lines?”
Madelyn grinned. She didn’t really feel like talking but a thought suddenly exploded in her head.
With a pronounced Southern drawl, she said, “Well, yes I do.” Madelyn looked down at the insignia on her jacket and raised her shoulders. “Oh, y’all noticed that,” the drawl still pronounced.
“Wow,” the man said. “We were just on one of your ships. The Fantasia, a cruise to Mexico. But we could only get green jackets. We wanted the black ones.”
Madelyn feigned an apologetic grin. “This color is only for the officers,” Madelyn said. “Well, I do hope you at least enjoyed your cruise. We aim to please our guests.”
“Yes, it was fabulous,” the woman said. “I don’t mean to be nosy dear but what is it that you do for Candalabra Cruises? We love your ships. And the great service.”
“I am the captain.” She felt awkward, yet telling the lie felt thrilling.
“Oh my God,” the man said. “What ship? We had Captain Johannsen from Sweden.”
“The Corinthian, that was my ship,” Madelyn said and realized she was close to losing the Southern accent. She had seen The Corinthian docked next to her cruise ship in Quebec, Canada.” Her mind raced to come up with more falsified details. Ensuring the Southern drawl, she said, “I’m on a two month break right now. Then I’ll be off to captain a new ship out of Southampton, England.”
“Oh, I think we heard about that ship,” the man said. He turned to the woman. “Didn’t we hear something about it, Myrna?”
He looked back at Madelyn. “By the way, we’re Max and Myrna Hofstetter.”
The woman touched Madelyn’s arm with her gloved hand and said, “So nice to meet you. Yes, I think the name of that new one is a French word, isn’t it?” The woman rubbed her forehead. She had large droopy eyebags but bright blue eyes.”
“Yes, our new ship is The Glisade. Good memory you have there, remembering it was French,” Madelyn said, flashing her dimples like a Southern belle.
“Where are you from?” the man asked.
“Guess I can’t hide this accent even if I tried. Atlanta, Georgia to be exact.”
Madelyn felt large drops of rain hit her nose and cheeks, and was running out of things to fib about.
“Well, delightful to meet you two,” she said, and looked up at the sky. It was really starting to rain.
“Awesome to meet you,” the man said, his voice raised above the sound of the pelting rain. “Hope to see you again, Captain,” the woman said.
“I should have introduced myself earlier,” Madelyn said. “I’m Captain Lazarus. Olivia Lazarus,” She pulled the hood of her jacket over the knit cap. “Y’all have a great day.”
The man saluted her. The woman copied him.
“Maybe see you on The Glisade in the future,” Madelyn said and waved, then pivoted and rushed away.
Why had she been so kooky, lying through her teeth for no reason? Her body trembled. She had turned herself into someone totally different on a whim. The thrill warmed her body and pumped through her veins. She had fully enjoyed the ridiculous ruse and was hooked. The idea of doing it again was intoxicating.
As she headed down the path, she eagerly started to shape her next adventure. She planned to go onto the dating website she had been looking at, using a false persona she invented on her walk back home as the rain pelted down on the hood of her cruise line jacket.
On the dating website, she took on the identity of a flamenco dance teacher, Lydia Guiterrez, where she said she was on a two-year contract from Spain, teaching flamenco in downtown Santa Cruz. On the date, a few days later, with her long dark hair curled, she wore a red silk shawl over a lacy eyelet blouse, a flouncy mid-calf length red, green and black flowered skirt, and black stack heels with thin ankle straps. It was a “meet for drinks” date at an upscale restaurant/bar in Monterey. She sat on a high stool in her elaborate skirt, her legs crossed flexing her ankles right and left as if she couldn’t help but practice dance moves. Her five years of ballet finally came in handy. She faked a Spanish accent which she practiced for two days asking Alexa to say conversational phrases in Spanish.
The man she met on the on-line dating site was named Ted and he seemed to eat up her act. Sitting there in the dimly lit bar, she felt the adrenalin rush from her head down to her toes. She had two dates with Ted where they smooched in his car for a couple of hours on their first date and on their second date, they went a little further in the same car, but not all the way. The windows steamed up in the restaurant’s parking lot. She declined a third date with him saying that she was suddenly called back to Spain. Her mother had taken ill. She loved the swindle. She was becoming addicted to changing identities.
A week later, she met another man on-line. His name was Henry, a housing contractor from San Jose. With him, Madelyn pretended she was a costume designer named Simone Falloit from Paris and in the Bay area to design costumes for actors in a Shakespearean performance company. Madelyn took three years of French in high school, so she easily adopted the accent, inserting French phrases and expressions often in conversation with Henry. On their first date, she wore a tight black skirt with a long slit up the side, a thick leather belt that made her waist look tiny and a frilly white satin blouse. She spent two hours applying her make-up perfectly and tied her long dark hair up in a French knot with a rhinestone barrette. Ted wanted to bed her on their second date, but she said she had to go home and do the final touches on her costume drawings to meet with the show’s director in the morning. Then, she declined a third date with him, saying she had so little time to do anything except her work, and would let him know when things got better. Henry sent her forty-two texts pleading for a third date. But Madelyn had lost interest and wanted to go onto yet another persona and a new mark.
She did this process three more times with three more men. With a man named Bhaskar she faked being a jewelry designer named Margie Ann Conner from San Francisco. She dressed like a hippie with long dangly earrings, wore an embroidered peasant blouse and braided her hair. Their first date was to a wine bar and then to a health food restaurant in Santa Cruz. He was originally from New Delhi, worked as a tech executive in Silicon Valley and wore an impeccable dark blue suit and striped tie to both dates. He seemed taken with her, although they were quite the contrast in terms of style. At the end of their second date to an outdoor concert, he told her that he wanted to introduce her to his extended family in San Jose. Madelyn phoned him two days later and declined, saying that she was reuniting with her ex-boyfriend. They had made amends. Another one of Madelyn’s total lies.
With another man called Philip she became Lynda Berkowitz, an art dealer from New York City sporting a Brooklyn accent, dark red lipstick, and black eye liner that went out beyond her eyelids. The long dark-haired wig went down her back and finished just above her waist. She wore a fitted jade green crepe suit with matching spike patent heels. Philip was a criminal attorney and represented an array of high-profile clients, one of his cases featured on a Dateline episode she’d seen. As they sat in the Buena Vista Bar near Fisherman’s wharf in San Francisco, Philip whispered risqué suggestions in her ear. Then, he took her to the opera house to see Aida followed with a pricey Thai food dinner. He suggested they stay the night at the Hyatt Regency in Union Square which she said she’d love to do but just couldn’t that evening because she was leaving on an early plane the next morning to San Diego. Philip was disappointed and asked to take her away the next weekend to Lake Tahoe. She said she’d think about it but then never returned his phone calls.
Six weeks after she did the first ruse with the couple by the beach, Madelyn entered a local coffee shop wearing a white doctor’s coat, tortoise-shell rimmed glasses and with a small plastic name pin on the breast pocket of the coat which read Dr. Mindy Krueger. She was poised to impersonate a successful veterinarian, and transplant from the U.K. She had rehearsed her upper crust British accent over the last two nights watching several re-runs of Downton Abbey. She was early and ordered a Vanilla Latte, then spotted a vacant high-top table and sat on the stool waiting for the new guy named Jake. She opened her purse and peeked at the tiny book full of British phrases.
He walked in, tall, well over six feet, his hair salt and pepper. In one hand, he held a tiny British flag which he had told her he’d do, so she’d more easily spot him. She gave him a subtle wave, appreciating the fact that he looked just like the on-line photo on the dating site, much more so than the other men she had met. An electrifying sensation overtook her as he approached. She had looked forward to taking on a British identity.
“Jake?” she said as the handsome man stood before her, the tiny flag in his hand.
“Mindy?”
She nodded. “I have my drink,” she said in a British accent. “You want to order yours?” she asked looking down at her watch. “Only forty-five minutes to spare before I need to start back.” Jake held up his finger as if to signal her to hold that thought. He darted over to the barista and picked up a tall cup from the counter.
Returning, he sat on the stool opposite her. “I ordered ahead,” he said. “Knowing you were short on time.” He took a quick sip of his drink.
“Mmm, that’s a good macchiato,” he said. “So, Dr. Mindy Kruger what’s it like to be a veterinarian? And are you loving California?” He grinned. “You don’t have to answer the second question. I’m just nosy.” He rolled his eyes and took another sip of coffee.
Madelyn bit her lip. She felt an instant attraction to this man and could pretend to be a Brit veterinarian on maybe three or four dates instead of her customary two date limit.
“Well, as to your first question, I absolutely adore animals,” she said. “Frightfully cliché, I know.” She blushed mostly because she was taken aback at her reaction to him. He had an intriguing smile, one edge of his lip shifting upward, a kind of Harrison Ford thing going on, a combination of sexy, yet child-like. “Yes, I’m very much enjoying America,” she said, “especially the brilliant Santa Cruz beach scene.”
Jake shared that he was a principal at a private junior high school in Monterey, about twenty-five miles away from where they sat. He was on a Spring break and devoting most of his free time working on a novel he was in the midst of writing. He had divorced almost three years before, no children and then fell into an eight-month transitional relationship that didn’t work out. He dated now and then but was so enveloped in writing his ‘coming of age’ novel which sidetracked him from venturing out much socially.
In her head she questioned that as he did meet her on a dating website.
“Can I make a confession?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Believe it or not, you are my first on-line experiment. I’ve only been on the site for three days.”
She smiled. “And you’re my first,” she said.
They both laughed.
“Tell me more about your work,” she said. “I want to know all about it.”
As he spoke about his twelve years of teaching and then taking on the new challenge as principal, his brown eyes lit up and seemed to go from a dark brown color to a light amber when a streak of sunlight came through the café’s picture window. She wondered if it said “hazel” for eye color on his driver’s license. The light caught the side of his face. She noticed a short hairline scar on his lightly bristled chin. He had an academic look but also a kind of rustic outdoor feel to him because of his broad shoulders. He wore a plaid shirt, a brown suede jacket and khaki slacks. She stared for a moment at his left hand as they chatted, looking to see if there was any sign of a lighter shaded wedding ring area on his ring finger. None that she could see. He seemed genuine and she could probably listen to his buttery voice all night long.
Madelyn made up a story about attending veterinary school in London, and what inspired her to enter the medical field; how her father was head of pediatrics for an esteemed London hospital and had wanted her to follow in his footsteps. She respected his wishes but moved over to veterinary care because of her passion for animals, especially dogs, and then went off to America which was initially another disappointment for her father. All the false details came easily to her because she could see herself living the life of a veterinarian.
“But now my parents get to spend at least a month here during the despicable U.K. winters,” she added. “And they are grateful.,” she said. As Dr. Mindy Kruger, Madelyn described her two miniature dachshunds, Eliza and Pedro, both rescues she adopted through the local animal shelter.
Usually, Madelyn felt a bubbling Nirvana swirl through her body when in the midst of faking a new persona. It was like a “high” she experienced each time. The more complex the details she’d make up, the more delicious it was for her. But this time was feeling anxious. She wished to God that she wasn’t lying to this man. A drip of sweat drizzled down her back under her blouse despite the air-conditioning.
“Can I see you again?” he asked softly.
He leaned across the table. “How about Saturday night?”
“Captain Lazarus.”
Madelyn heard a man’s voice come from behind. She turned and recognized him from the beach walk a few weeks ago. The woman standing near him with the same droopy eyebags but bright blue eyes.
“It is you,” the man said.
“Oh, Captain Lazarus,” the woman said with excitement. “So good to see you. We booked another cruise with Candelabra. Although not on your new ship.”
The man narrowed his eyes for a moment, reading the name tag on her white jacket.
“Um, I’m terribly sorry,” Madelyn said, keeping the British accent. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”
He came closer and stared at Madelyn’s necklace, a tiny round diamond surrounded by a circle of gold, on a short chain. She always wore it, didn’t take it off at night nor when she pretended to be someone else on all of her dates. It was the last Christmas gift her mother had given her, one her mother had probably saved up for months to purchase.
“I recognize that necklace,” the man said. “It is you!” He looked over at his wife and let out a heavy sigh. Jake was quiet but Madelyn noticed that he had straightened up on his stool, his eyebrows raised, his fingers fiddling with his paper coffee cup.
“You must remember us Captain Lazarus,” the man insisted. “Max and Myrna Hofstetter. At the beach, in the rain!”
“I’m so sorry, but I’m not who you think I am,” she replied. “Honestly, I have no idea who that person is.” She noticed people around them starting to stare.
“And your Southern accent’s gone,” the man said. He stared at her name pin again. His wife pulled on his jacket.
“Max, let’s go. Our coffee’s ready,” she said and pointed to the counter.
“But why would she have lied to us?” The man grumbled without moving an inch. He glared at Madelyn, then turned and headed to the counter. His wife handed him the coffee. They rushed out the door, bickering.
Jake stood from the stool and picked up his coffee cup. “I better get going,” he said. “And you, um, you need to get back to…” He looked baffled.
“Yes, you’d better go,” she said, cutting him off, losing the British accent. She was angry at herself but let it out on him. She had the urge to take his hand and apologize. Explain herself. But she couldn’t speak.
“Who the hell are you?” he said, his arms crossed on his chest.
He shook his head, turned and tossed the coffee cup in the bin before he left.
Madelyn closed her eyes and sat in silence. Her throat felt dry. Her head ached. The one drip of sweat that had traveled down her back earlier had turned into a trail of trickles which pooled at the waistband of her skirt. She opened her eyes and through the café window she noticed a grey-bearded man wearing a San Francisco Giant’s baseball cap sitting at an outside table, a loaded shopping cart at his side heaped with blankets, clothes, two long sticks, a ragged rope wrapped over the top holding all of it in place.
Madelyn tossed her cup and exited the café, then paused at the old man’s table. She tucked a one-hundred-dollar bill under the paper bag sitting in front of him. She bent close to his ear. “For you, sir,” she said quietly.
For the next two weeks, she stayed in bed most days until afternoon, showered infrequently, ate a frozen pot pie each night for dinner, didn’t answer the phone, didn’t watch television, and didn’t go on-line. She wanted nothing to do with the world outside her cottage.
She thought about her father, Maxwell Huntington. Why hadn’t he reached out all those years? Why would he then leave her all that money? Had he been ashamed to be linked to her mother because she ran a nail salon? Did he have no interest to even meet his daughter, his own flesh and blood? Madelyn realized how she had filled the hole in her heart with the nonsense of “pretending” she was someone else, over and over again. A series of masks to help her suppress the anger she had for her father, allowing her to forget her loneliness, even if only for a few hours at a time. It was her irresponsible way to somehow feel valued.
After two weeks of confinement, she looked herself in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes vacant. Her hand went to the tiny diamond edged in gold on the short chain which hung around her neck, the gift from her mother. Madelyn brushed her teeth for the first time in days and decided to get dressed. She’d venture out, see some daylight. She took her usual beach path walk. It was late May and the day was warm. The swoosh of the gentle surf felt comforting and the sun bright. She wore cut-off jean shorts, a black tank top, and a floppy soft-brimmed straw hat. Her long hair was pinned half up, half down. The worn sneakers squeaked as she walked. But for the first time in a long time, she felt relaxed, like a weight had been lifted. She could breathe easily.
She saw three women approaching and a troop of six little dogs on leashes wearing red vests, each vest with the words ‘ADOPT ME’ in white block letters across their backs. One of the dogs, a small charcoal grey terrier, pulled to her as she walked by them. The wag of their tails, their eager energy, made her smile. The three women holding leashes wore tan canvas vests that read SPCA VOLUNTEER.
The women stopped close to Madelyn, the dogs halting at their sides, but still yipping at one another. The tallest woman in the group, well into her sixties, grinned at her. The little grey dog pulled more anxiously towards Madelyn, his tail snapping at full speed.
The woman laughed. “Here, give her a treat,” she said, and handed Madelyn a small dog biscuit. “This little guy likes you. We call him Benny.” Madelyn bent her knees to give the dog the treat, and pet his curly fur. He sat on the path at her feet and tried to pull on one of her sneaker’s shoelaces. She let him have his fun while she spent several minutes talking with the volunteers. The dogs were up for adoption, and there was concern, as the shelter was about to lose a large chunk of funding from the county. The shelter currently housed more than forty dogs needing adoption. Without replacement funding, the dogs would be moved to an already over-crowded shelter in South San Francisco, and then who knows what would happen to them, one of the volunteers explained.
And that’s how Madelyn found her calling. A week later, she gifted over $400k to the local shelter and then another $300K to their sister rescue organization in Half Moon Bay. She adopted two rescue dogs herself, a half-blind dachshund called Blue, and the little grey terrier named Benny.
After making the two donations, she linked with a group of philanthropists who shared information and acted together as a consortium to help non-profits focused on saving animals across the state. Madelyn became comfortable with her wealth, settled into her new mission in life. The money now had meaning. The fears she had about being a target for fortune hunters seemed to melt away.
Two months passed, and one afternoon in late July, realizing that she had never closed the dating site, Madelyn went on-line. About to click the button to cancel the service, a flash of curiosity hit her.
She tapped Bay Area Single Men and scrolled through the photos and bios best matched to her. Maybe she should start dating again, without a fake identity; just take the risk even if they’d eventually find out about her fortune. But she felt more confident now and less afraid.
Madelyn froze in the chair when she saw the photo on the screen. She knew that crooked smile, those hazel eyes, his salt and pepper hair. She zoomed in and could see the tiny hairline scar on his chin. It was definitely Jake! But the name above the photo read Dr.Heinz Clement, German Astro-physicist and Best-Selling Author. She read the brief bio to the right of the photo.
German heritage, forty-two-years old, descendant from German royalty, hang-glider, owns castle on the Rhine, and LOOKING FOR LOVE.
Blue, the dachshund, wandered into the room and laid his head on top of Madelyn’s right foot. She scooped him on her lap, her eyes back on the screen, back to Jake’s face. She grinned. Her grin turned into a smile. She read the bio a second time and then burst out laughing. Had she infected Jake with her addiction, the addiction she had given up? Or had he been duping her as well? “Should I respond?” she said out loud. She looked down at Blue and said, “Why not?”
Linda S. Gunther is the author of six published suspense novels: Ten Steps From the Hotel Inglaterra, Endangered Witness, Lost in the Wake, Finding Sandy Stonemeyer, Dream Beach, and Death is a Great Disguiser. Most recently, her memoir titled A Bronx Girl (growing up in the Bronx in the 1960’s) was released in late 2023. Ms. Gunther’s short stories, poetry, book reviews and essays have been published in a variety of literary journals across the world.
First of all, contributor Jeff Rasley invites people to consider this opportunity to further education in Basa Village, where he has spent much time.
From Jeff: The people of Basa Village, Nepal, have requested our Foundation’s help with two projects commencing in 2025. Funds are needed to help pay the salaries of three of the village school’s teachers. If private funding is not provided, the school’s English, Science, and Social Studies & Computer Literacy teachers will have to work for no pay or resign. Because the village’s family farms are all subsistence farms, many of the 85 elementary school students will eventually leave Basa. Acquiring education that will help to make the village’s youth employable in a city may be vital to their future. The Foundation is seeking contributions to fund those three teachers’ salaries for one year.
The second project is the development of a commercially viable herd of goats and pigs. The villagers are dependent on subsistence farming and money earned by some of the adults working in the tourist industry as support staff for treks and mountaineering expeditions. Disastrous earthquakes in 2015 and the 2020 COVID pandemic virtually shut down tourism for two years following each of those catastrophes. The village leaders realized that a sustainable business is needed to support village families, when jobs in tourism are not available. The first animals were purchased this year, but to make the endeavor profitable, more animals must be purchased and cared for. The goal is to have a profitable co-op business of selling goat milk, cheese, and yoghurt and pork within two years after the requisite number of animals are acquired. Money earned above costs will support the village school and provide assistance to any families in need.
Please consider contributing to our fundraiser for the school and farm projects via our website at https://www.bvfusa.org/donate
Or, send a check to our corporate treasurer David Culp 2322 E. 66th St. Indianapolis, IN 46220. Let me know if you have any questions about the projects or the BVF. The Basa Village Foundation USA, Inc. is a 501(C)(3) organization, and financial contributions to it are charitable donations, per the US Internal Revenue Code.
Now, for this month’s first issue: Who Will We Become?
John Edward Culp personifies the human journey through life as a child learning to walk under a giant sky. On the other hand, Ilhomova Mohichehra’s work honors the beauty and longevity of a tree.
Sayani Mukherjee communes with the hidden longings and feelings layered within a landscape as Rubina Anis melds colors into gentle natural scenes. Christina Chin and Jerome Berglund’s collaborative tan-renga highlight vignettes and observations of humans co-existing with nature. Raquel Barbeito’s art zooms in on pieces of nature – flowers, spiders, a skull – in black and white. O’tkir Mulikboyev wishes to become part of his natural environment and bring nutriments to those around him.
Alan Catlin presents human and animal wildness in its feral glory: hunger, fear, crashing ocean spray, animal eyes in the dark, earthworm trails. Sidnei Rosa da Silva’s prose poetry depicts the lonely calm of a northern winter. Christina Chin and Kimberly Olmtak’s collaborative tan-renga becomes more personal and domestic, presenting cozy tea and houseplants.
Duane Vorhees furthers his poetic exploration of sensuality, fecundity, and history. Brooks Lindberg’s poem probes the linkages between older mysticism and newer beliefs given our understanding of physics.
Isabel Gomez de Diego’s photography positions youth and new life as a continuation of the world’s cultural and natural history. Kylian Cubilla Gomez captures the off-center wonder and mystery of childhood through his photographic close-ups of toys.
Jacques Fleury’s pieces address awakening, surprise, and discovery. JoyAnne O’Donnell celebrates the manifold ways ordinary people can find joy in our everyday lives, including love and close relationships. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa conveys the deep joy of intimacy, friendship, and love. Mesfakus Salahin evokes quiet moments of peace brought by a tender love. Sara Goyceli Serifova wishes to live a long time with her beloved partner, as her grandmother did.
Z.I. Mahmud examines the characters’ journeys out of self-absorption toward empathy and wonder in Antoine Saint-Exupery’s The Little Prince.
Layla Adhamova suggests that happiness is accessible to many people, not just the wealthy. Gullola Nuriddinova laments the betrayal of a lover who chose money over their beloved. Bill Tope’s short story illustrates a youthful form of justice against family favoritism and classism around the holidays.
Brian Barbeito conveys the wisdom of age in his piece on a friendship between a young boy and a kind elderly neighbor.
Haitmurodov Ismoil reflects on how a father’s love can sustain you throughout life. Azimbayeva Dilrabo gives a tribute to a caring father who passed away, Iroda Sherzod offers up a tribute to her caring and selfless father, and Rahmiddinova Mushtariy pays tribute to her father’s wisdom. Olimjonova Muslima pays tribute to her parents’ continued support all along her academic and personal journey.
Sobirjonova Rayhona shares tributes to beloved teachers here, here, and here. Shahnoza Ochildiyeva’s story illustrates how a teacher brought about justice in the classroom without shaming anyone. Shoxijaxon Urunov’s essay highlights how teachers accomplish so much more than imparting information.
Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna reflects on the difficulties and hard work of the creative life and her determination to pursue that path, as Kass probes the solitary inner drives of a literary artist.
Rick Reut tinkers with the arrangement of words in concrete poetry exploring time, memory, and language. Vernon Frazer’s words pop out of juxtaposed shapes and images while Mark Young serves up a heady word-marinade. Maftuna Yusufboyeva looks into a different way of using language, examining the role, goals, and purposes of advertising. Texas Fontanella links ideas and words and bursts of thought together in his Pound-inspired modern canto.
Federico Wardal spotlights the elegance and cultural history of Andrea Ceccomori’s San Francisco flute performances. David Sapp illuminates a moment of rapturous ecstasy in the view of sublime art. Dr. Jernail S. Anand’s poetry reminds us that the truth about history and humanity is often difficult to stomach and that art helps us process our knowledge. Thus, the literary arts are a worthy calling, despite the lack of remuneration.
Norova Zulfizar outlines various historical sites in Uzbekistan while Rustambekova Nozimakhon sketches life in her neighborhood, showing her pride in her community. Khalida Nuray’s poem urges people of Turkish ancestry to rise up and defend and protect their homeland and culture.
S.C. Flynn’s poetry illustrates the tragedies of incomplete journeys and transformations: beautiful thoughts, creatures, and relationships that never develop into what they are meant to be.
Taylor Dibbert’s poem reflects the quiet anxiety many Americans felt over the 2024 presidential election. In a similar vein, Daniel De Culla satirizes Donald Trump’s values and personality through poetry and a photo. Pat Doyne bitterly calls out the United States’ less welcoming attitudes towards immigrants. John Ebute poetically seeks signs of life in his native and troubled Nigeria. Abigail George mourns the loss of life and the obfuscations of international politics in her poems on the war in Gaza. Alexander Kabishev ends his saga of the trauma of living in St. Petersburg under siege. David Woodward reflects on broken American political systems with concrete poetry using absurdist forms.
In a more general vein, Anvarova Nilufar laments the harsh state of the world and human nature. Goyibnazarov Abdulla reminds us how people often overestimate their abilities and knowledge.
Mykyta Ryzhykh’s undercapitalized works evoke the barren, alienated landscape of modern life. J.J. Campbell offers up a bah-humbug to the festive season, showing overworked cashiers, commercialism, pain, racism, and loneliness behind the holiday mood. Jim Meirose sends up a quirky tale for the season of online electronics shopping.
Tempest Miller explores memory, trauma, and the absurdity of existence through his pieces on zebras, crocodiles, industry, and nature. Jake Cosmos Aller revels in the surreal wild spirit of a crazy night of passion and booze. Paul Costa uses the language of Western-style adventures to highlight struggles within and among people.
Ilhomova Mohichehra reflects on human vulnerability and on gratitude for her health. Graciela Noemi Villaverde reflects poetically on the loss of a great love. Mahbub Alam also mourns an absence that has become visceral and inescapable. Philip Butera’s poetry explores personal and relational grief, loneliness, and the desire to escape from oneself. Christopher Bernard expresses similar sentiments in his poetic tribute to writer Marvin R. Hiemstra and other deceased writers, which focuses less on than on the individuals who passed and more on the implacability and universality of death.
Christina Chin presents a third round of collaborative tan-renga, this time with M.R. Defibaugh. Its protagonists bring a quiet determination to face unexpected twists of fate.
Maja Milojkovic presents a glorious vision for the world, where everyone enjoys peace, freedom, and mutual respect. We hope that this publication brings Earth a step closer to that goal. Please enjoy the issue!
Advertisement is Latin for shouting. Advertising - information about the quality of goods, benefits from their purchase; special information distributed about legal entities and individuals or products for the purpose of direct or indirect profit (income). Advertising is considered a component of marketing and affects the formation of demand and consumer taste. Advertising is carried out for the purposes of creating an image of the enterprise (long-term effect), increasing current sales (short-term effect), helping buyers decide what to buy and why they need to buy it, and other purposes. The main task of advertising is to interest the customer, not to lose customers and to expand them.
The history of the emergence of advertising is very ancient, in Greece and Ancient Rome there is information about the advertising of goods by means of oral and written advertising, and even branding. The ad in its current form first appeared in the United States. In the second half of the 19th century, the first advertising agencies operated here, and advertising began to bring a lot of income. Initially, the written advertisement performed the task of informing the buyers about the store and the goods sold in it. This work was done by writing blackboards and organizing showcases. Later, advertising became a form of addressing a potential buyer through publications - informational advertisements appeared in posters, books, magazines, and newspapers. Mass media (press, radio, television, cinema) were involved in advertising work.
Advertising performs several tasks: 1) the task of informing consumers of goods and services, providing information - advertisements provide information about the quality and reliability of goods and services, their areas of application, manufacturers, and purchase methods; 2) persuasive advertising - serves to increase the inclination of consumers and buyers to existing goods; 3) reminder advertising - plays an important role in expanding the existing, but somewhat forgotten demand, attitude to the goods known to the buyers themselves.
Such advertising is used for periodically updated and seasonal goods.
Each firm carries out its advertising activities on the basis of hiring advertising agents or creating an advertising service or using the services of special advertising agencies. The effectiveness of advertising largely depends on the organization of demand research, which helps to determine the circle of buyers and methods of influencing them. Currently, advertising is carried out through the press, radio, television, and special advertising films are shown. For the purpose of advertising, posters, booklets, product catalogs are produced and distributed.
In the conditions of the market economy, the importance of advertising services increases, and the share of advertising expenses in the transaction costs increases. Advertising becomes a separate branch of business and advertising is organized according to special rules and laws. Legality, accuracy, reliability, use of forms and tools that do not cause damage to the user of advertising, as well as moral damage are the main requirements for advertising.
Relations related to the preparation and distribution of advertising in Uzbekistan are regulated by the Law of the Republic of Uzbekistan "On Advertising" (December 25, 1998) and the decisions of the Cabinet of Ministers of the Republic of Uzbekistan. According to this law, it is prohibited by law to spread false or inaccurate information in advertising, as well as to advertise certain goods or activities.
