The Digger's Rest (49 page)

Who Says You Can’t Go Home,

As performed by Bon Jovi

From The Author

For anyone who has read
Inside A Haunted Mind,
you will
remember that I used quotes from philosophers through the ages to
open every chapter. I did this because I wanted the quotes to act
like a Greek chorus to highlight the complexity of the situations
and emotions portrayed.

When I sat down to write
The Digger’s Rest
and created the
character of Mitchell Bramson as the son of a 1960s folksinger
(drawing on my own love for the period and all that it stood for,
including the music), I found myself humming and singing the songs
as I wrote, remembering my own growing up and how so much of the
way I viewed the world was affected by that music and decided to
use the same format; this time with a musical angle, spanning
several decades, to reflect how the character of Melanie Woodward
colors the action of everything that happens in Digger’s, again
intending it to act as a Greek chorus for the actions contained
therein.

When I sent it to my editor for an early
review, she asked me if I was sure I wanted to do it again because
it might be viewed as being my trademark. I hadn’t thought of it
that way until she said it, but upon reflection of her question, it
came to me. Yes, I was perfectly fine with anyone who reads my work
to be able to expect the added cultural levels “my trademark” would
add to anything I did, as it would never fail to layer modern
perspectives with well over 5,000 years of recorded human history
and remind us all that we are not, nor have we ever been, alone in
our struggle to understand ourselves, good and bad, right and
wrong, flawed and striving, and question where we have been and
where we are going in the hope that we would recognize ourselves as
the complex and unique creatures known as the “human beings” that
we are.

Having said that, for anyone who is not
familiar with any of the song quotes used in
The Digger’s Rest,
I would encourage you to use
your IPods, Cell Phones, CDs, Cassettes (or even vinyl record)
players (do whatever you can) to seek out these songs, then re-read
Digger’s, hum as you go along. Allow yourself to be as enriched,
touched, and molded by them as I have been. Some will make you
laugh, others may make you cry, but, in the end, isn’t that the
true nature of art; what makes us what we are, with the ability to
touch others and have a lasting effect on each other through time?
Trust me; these songs will stay with you long after you’ve closed
the cover.

KPM

The following is an excerpt from
Malone’s award-winning Book of the Year:
“An Unfinished House”

—————

Chapter One

Cruel Magic

Mike
Golden
s
a
t
quietly
on
a
pallet
of
bagged
mortar
in
the
late
a
u
tumn
sun,
bent
over
w
i
th
a
book
in
his
hand,
his
lunch
half
eaten
by
his
side.
He
heard
the
sound
of
f
o
otsteps
come
up
behind
him.
“Reverend
Willis!”
he
said,
brightly
smiling
as
he
turned
his
head
to
see
the
shiny
black
face
framed
wit
h
a
white
collar
approaching
slowly
with
the aid of a walking stick.

“
I
jus’
came
by
to
see
how
things
were
goin’,
Michael.
Sorry
I
missed
you
last
week.
I
had
a
holy
roller
convention
in
Newark,”
th
e
old
man
sa
id
laughing.
“So
whatcha
readin’
this
week,
son?”

“
It’s
called
Brideshe
a
d
Revisited
,
by
an
Englishman
named Evelyn
of
all
things,”
Mike
replied,
a
little
embarrassed.
He’d
spent
most
of
his
adult
life
hid
i
ng
from
the
world
the
fact
that
he
couldn’t
get
enough
Englis
h
and
American
literature,
and
especially
t
h
e
fact
th
a
t
h
e
had
to
we
a
r
glasses
to
do
it.
He
was
a
contractor
,
after
all,
roug
h
and
tough,
none
too
sensitive,
and
dirty
most
of
the
time.
It
would
ruin
his
image
if
anyone
knew
that
he
was
in
the
middle
of
reading
th
e
Modern
Li
b
r
ary’s
List
of
the
Top
100
Novels
of
the
Cen
t
ur
y
.
Only
Jane
r
e
ally
knew
about
his
passion
for
books,
and
understood
how
he
came
by
it.
She
was
the
only
one
he
ever
told
that
it
was
how
he
managed
t
o
come
thr
o
ugh
the
battlefield
of
shouts,
slaps,
bellows
and
screams
that
was
his
parents’
marriage;
hiding
in the
laundry
room
out
of
the
line
of
fire
with
a
book
in
his
hand.

There
he
discovered
a
world
where
all
he
ever
had
to
do
to
escape
was
to
turn
the
pages,
and
he’d
be
transported
to some
other
place,
some
other
time,
become
somebody
else.
Otherwise,
he
was
pretty
succ
e
ssful
at
his
camouflage.
With
his
black
hair
shaved,
rugged
features,
outdoor
complexion
and
big,
burly
build,
no
one
would
ev
er
have
gues
sed
just
by
looking
at
h
i
m…but
the
Reverend
Willis
was
n
o
fool.
H
e
knew
the
o
l
d
adage
ab
o
u
t
the
eyes
b
e
ing
the
windows
to
the
soul
was true.

The
old
ma
n
reached
int
o
his
jacket
p
ocket
and
p
u
lled
out
a
small
volume.
“I
thought
about
yo
u
while
I
was
gone,”
the
Reverend
said,
handing
Mike
the
book.
“I
found
it
in
a
used
book
store
when
I
was
out
one
day
and
couldn’t
help
but
get
it
for
you,”
he
said
smiling
with
satisfaction.
The
sun
behind
him
made
his
black-clothed
figur
e
and
skin
seem
like
a
silhouette.
“It’s
calle
d
Uncle
Tom’s
Cabi
n
by
H
a
rriet
Beec
h
er
Stowe.”