Excerpt from Taking Pictures by Rachael Sircar
“Ms. Heartland, Ms. Geena.” He addressed them and nodded professionally. Alyssa set her fork down. “As you know, I am very dedicated to my son.” Mr. Turner started, folding his hands on the cream colored tablecloth. “He is everything to me.”
Alyssa and Geena patiently listened. Marvin checked emails on his cell phone, making it politely clear that he understood he was not involved in the conversation.
“Last year, I had Scotty with me when I was at the fishing store, purchasing a gift for a neighbor. While there, we passed a water display that featured a collection of rubber ducks and fishing bobbers. Of course, Scotty was drawn to the display and I allowed him to play while I negotiated with the staff. The bobbers were rigged to a system that pulled them under the water every few minutes to give the appearance of a fish pulling on the line. Scotty was fascinated. He had no interest in the rubber ducks or the water itself – it was the bobbers that drew him in.”
The waiter brought two more glasses of water for Mr. Turner and Geena. Marvin excused himself from the table to use his phone while Alyssa and Geena continued to listen to Mr. Turner’s story. “I purchased several bobbers, fishing poles, gear, that kind of thing. When we got home, Scotty and I sat at the lake fishing for four hours. He loved it. Of course he didn’t want to have anything to do with the fish once it was out of the water, but he was able to sit for hours on end watching that bobber, waiting for a fish to take a peck at it. He knew exactly when to yank on the rod and how to reel it in.”
Alyssa watched Mr. Turner’s eyes as he told the story of Scotty’s fishing obsession. His vision focused on the cloth napkin folding and unfolding in his hands, the passersby outside the window near their table, and off into a world of memories. Never once did his eyes focus on her or Geena. She couldn’t quite figure out what his anecdote had to do with her, but she didn’t mind sitting through the sweet story to get to the punch line.
“We go out when the weather is nice. After the incident at Marigold Elementary, I pulled him out of school and worked from home for a while. I’d sit at the picnic table making phone calls and working on my laptop. Scotty fished. The only difficulties were when I had to break from a conference call to take a fish off the line and throw it back into the water. And, of course, going back in to the house is always hard. He loves sitting out there.” Mr. Turner sighed, maybe picturing his son casting the fishing line out into the lake and watching the bobber until it popped under the water.
Alyssa wondered how many other students with autism would enjoy fishing. She’d always thought outdoor activities were too stressful. Even a field trip to the Wildlife Sanctuary had been fraught with complications. Ami had held her hands over her ears every time the crows announced their presence, Maverick kept trying to climb the trees, Masashi secreted away leaves in his shirt during the walk and ended up with some unidentifiable rash, and Allen refused to walk anywhere once he’d found a slug slowly inching its way across the sidewalk. She loved her students, but the thought of taking them fishing was almost more than her delicate soul could withstand.
Mr. Turner had stopped speaking, a pensive look obscured the characteristically determined look of his face. Alyssa wondered if he had more to say. Surely he hadn’t invited her to discuss fishing.
“It’s lovely that Scotty has found such a peaceful sport, Mr. Turner. Does he have other interests as well?” Geena asked, pleasantly smiling. Her dark eyes trained knowingly on Mr. Turner. Geena always had the right words to say.
“A couple weeks ago I took Scotty skydiving.”
At this, Geena’s pleasant smiling eyes turned into orbs of confusion, or maybe abject horror. Alyssa felt the same way. Scotty? Skydiving? Once again, Geena forcibly morphed her face into an image of content and inquiry. “That sounds interesting. Did he enjoy skydiving?”
“It was the worst experience of his life.” Mr. Turner leaned his head back and rubbed his manicured five o’clock shadow. Guilt was evident on his face as he recalled what must have been a catastrophic event. “The instructor was left with three gashes on his right cheek where Scotty had scratched him during the dive. It took us two hours to calm him down enough to get into the car and then another three days before he could sleep through the night.
Alyssa was speechless. Was this man crazy? Taking Scotty fishing in the back yard was one thing, but throwing him out of an airplane with the sound of wind whistling, air hitting you at 120 miles an hour, and no stability? She wanted to reach across the table and punch him. How could he possibly be upset with her for giving Scotty a Matchbox car when he had made the irresponsible choice to send Scotty skydiving?
“You see, the instructor has worked with special needs kids before. A few of them liked the skydiving thing.” At this, Mr. Turner looked directly into Alyssa’s eyes. Whether he was looking for understanding or forgiveness, she couldn’t tell. “I want Scotty to be provided every opportunity. With the fishing – it clicked. He loved it.”
“But the skydiving, not so much,” Alyssa quantified.
“Yes, not so much.”
“Life is short, Ms. Heartland. You may see it as a long string of years, each blending into the other. Plenty of opportunities for adventure, lots of chances to find something you like.” He began folding the napkin once again, his voice becoming bitter and single-minded as he conveyed his thoughts to the women at the table. “But I see time as a precious commodity. What if Scotty had loved the skydiving? It would have been an adventure that he could have cherished forever. Money, things… none of that matters. It’s the memories. Knowledge. You can never lose those things.” He glanced from the napkin up to Alyssa again. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever lost anyone close to you.”
The statement caught Alyssa off guard. The death was too raw, too new. She wasn’t ready to talk about it yet with someone she barely knew. Even talking about it with friends like Geena and Laurent was hard. She couldn’t possibly discuss her mother’s death with Mr. Turner.
“Mr. Turner.” Geena saved the day, her gentle voice flowing over the table in a wave of concern and empathy. “I completely understand what you’re saying, as does Ms. Heartland. You see, she is still recovering from the recent loss of her mother.”
Alyssa thought she saw Mr. Turner’s face pale a bit as he looked towards the kitchen, maybe hoping the appearance of a waiter would save him from the awkward silence that followed Geena’s statement. Alyssa’s lips felt like they’d been glued shut, her stomach tightened into knots, and she felt an unexpected well of emotion run through her core.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Mr. Turner finally broke the quiet that enveloped the three of them like a choking fog. “So you must understand then. Your mother, didn’t you want the best for her? To have experiences, and memories, and events that filled her life?
Alyssa thought of the dusty picture albums sitting on shelves in her mom’s living room. They were filled with experiences, memories, and events. “I would give all of those things up if I could just have a few more days with her.” She sensed tears spring to her eyes and felt Geena hand her a napkin under the table.
“You would give all of those memories up? You’re saying that you would rather your mother be alive with no past experiences than allow her to live a rich, exciting life albeit shorter than you would prefer?”
Alyssa wiped a tear from her cheek. “I don’t know. I just…” she didn’t know what to think. She felt pinned, confused. Mr. Turner was staring her down like a defendant in criminal court.
“Mr. Turner,” Geena began. “I don’t see why all this is necessary.” Alyssa could sense the anger in Geena’s voice as she began to reprimand Mr. Turner. “Ms. Heartland is a kind and generous teacher. She is only interested in what is best for your son. She will care for him to the best of her ability and she certainly has no plans to take the child skydiving.” Geena’s voice was growing louder and Alyssa glanced around the restaurant concernedly to see if anyone was noticing the drama at the corner table. “If you are not comfortable with her teaching ability, then just say so. You are welcome to pull your son out of our class and once again teach him at the lake shore with a fishing pole, but I assure you, catching fish will not provide him the knowledge of mathematics, science, social studies, and language skills that he needs.” Geena must have noticed her tone because she dropped down to a seething whisper. It was like she’d been boiling for the past week and was finally allowing the steam to escape from the kettle. “Last week Scotty learned about farm animals, skip-counting by fives, and how ice melts faster in your hands than on a plate. Try teaching that to your son while he’s falling ten thousand feet to the ground.”
Mr. Turner took a deep breath and gazed sternly at Geena. Alyssa once again had that feeling of dread, wondering if he was going to end up suing their school as well as Marigold Elementary.
“Ms. Geena,” he said, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the smooth fabric of the tablecloth. “That is exactly what I’m trying to get at.”
It wasn’t at all the answer Alyssa was expecting, but she was anxious enough to want to get to the bottom of their meeting, no longer satisfied with stories and theories. “What, exactly, Mr. Turner, are you trying to get at?” Alyssa hoped that her voice sounded more determined and brave than uncomfortable and scared.
“You see, Scotty…” Mr. Turner looked at Alyssa thoughtfully. It was no longer a piercing accusatory stare, but a contemplative one. As if he were carefully considering his next statement in order to make the most appropriate demand. “There are so many things that Scotty can do. I don’t want him held back by people thinking about what he can’t do. I want him to learn about chickens, and counting by fives, and ice. I want him to experience fishing and skydiving and school. He may not like something. It may be horrible. But… in life there is the good and the bad.” Mr. Turner wiped his brow. Alyssa noted a tremor in his fingers. “In the end, those memories are all we have.”
They all stared quietly at the center of the table. Not one of them knowing what to say next. Both she and Geena were thinking about it, but neither knew if they should say it. Alyssa looked up into Geena’s eyes. Surely she would start the conversation again. But Geena could only bite her lip. The side of Alyssa’s head beat in rhythmic pain as her heart thumped double time.
“I’m sorry Mr. Turner,” Alyssa began. “But I’m going to have to disagree.”
His eyebrow rose in what may have passed for curiosity, but appeared to be more anger than anything else. “You disagree? With what, exactly, do you disagree?”
“Memories aren’t all that we have. I believe that there is so much more than that.”
Mr. Turner tossed his bedraggled napkin to the table. “You’re not going to give me that religion crap, are you?”
“I’m just saying, Mr. Turner. This world is only a moment…”
“Bullshit,” Mr. Turner fumed. His face reddened and Alyssa could almost sense the frustration emanating off his skin. “If this is some sort of cosmic weigh station for a jackass upstairs playing with his little earthly toys, why the hell would he put them through all this?” His arm gestured towards the window where a mom held a crying baby outside the window and a traffic jam was clogging up the street in front of the sidewalk. “Why would he send one kid to a posh neighborhood where he could live in the lap of luxury and another kid to the slums of Haiti where he runs around naked begging for scraps of food? Why is it that a criminal who has killed, raped and tortured children can live off the system, being fed, clothed, and housed until he’s ninety-three and finally dies from heart disease while my loving, innocent child has to suffer from a disease that cannot be cured, that traps him in his own body and mind. Your god has thrown my child into a prison from which he will never be released. Why should I believe that some psychotic supreme being would make children, put them on this planet, and then cause them to suffer like this?”
“Excuse me.” Marvin returned just in time, stepped up to the table, and placed his hand gently on Mr. Turner’s shoulder. “Is everything okay here?” he asked concernedly.
Mr. Turner shook the hand off and stood up from his chair. “Yes, Marvin. Everything’s fine here.” Mr. Turner looked back at the table where Alyssa and Geena were sitting dumbstruck by all that he had just said. “My apologies ladies. I shouldn’t have been quite so adamant. But I feel we should continue to respect the laws of separation of church and state from this point on.”
Marvin stepped back and hesitantly moved to his seat, keeping a tight eye on Mr. Turner. “Glad to see everything’s fine,” Marvin stated, making the effort to lighten the mood at the table. “Have you decided on dessert?”
“No, thank you.” Mr. Turner glanced at his watch. He turned towards Alyssa and glared into her eyes. “I believe that Ms. Heartland and your wife understand my expectations now. I’m not asking for the world, only to provide my son with an appropriate educational experience.”
“Yes, Mr. Turner. I understand.” Something in Alyssa’s bravado stepped up to the plate and began a strong wind up for the upcoming pitch. “I will continue to provide a rigorous, enriching environment in which your son can thrive. I will also ensure his adherence to established social skills as deemed appropriate in our country. I will guarantee Scotty’s safety in my classroom to the best of my ability. But keep in mind, Mr. Turner. I am a human being. I am imperfect. God made me this way. The same way he made you imperfect and the same way he made Scotty imperfect. God has a plan. We may not understand it now. We may never understand it. But it is real, it is defining, and it is good. So, you may not approve of my religion, but I will continue to pray for Scotty, along with the other children in my class. And I will pray for you, Mr. Turner. Because it breaks my heart to think that you would assume life ends when we die. I believe that my mother and father are in a better place. And I believe that I too will be with them someday.”
Alyssa felt Geena’s hand on her shoulder. Glancing around the restaurant, she noticed that the few patrons were awkwardly pretending to ignore her tirade. She pushed a stray hair out of her face and sat up a little straighter.
Mr. Turner stood silently for a moment, and then turned abruptly, leaving the restaurant without reply.
Purchase Taking Pictures by Rachael Sircar in ebook or Paperback on Amazon.com.
“Ms. Heartland, Ms. Geena.” He addressed them and nodded professionally. Alyssa set her fork down. “As you know, I am very dedicated to my son.” Mr. Turner started, folding his hands on the cream colored tablecloth. “He is everything to me.”
Alyssa and Geena patiently listened. Marvin checked emails on his cell phone, making it politely clear that he understood he was not involved in the conversation.
“Last year, I had Scotty with me when I was at the fishing store, purchasing a gift for a neighbor. While there, we passed a water display that featured a collection of rubber ducks and fishing bobbers. Of course, Scotty was drawn to the display and I allowed him to play while I negotiated with the staff. The bobbers were rigged to a system that pulled them under the water every few minutes to give the appearance of a fish pulling on the line. Scotty was fascinated. He had no interest in the rubber ducks or the water itself – it was the bobbers that drew him in.”
The waiter brought two more glasses of water for Mr. Turner and Geena. Marvin excused himself from the table to use his phone while Alyssa and Geena continued to listen to Mr. Turner’s story. “I purchased several bobbers, fishing poles, gear, that kind of thing. When we got home, Scotty and I sat at the lake fishing for four hours. He loved it. Of course he didn’t want to have anything to do with the fish once it was out of the water, but he was able to sit for hours on end watching that bobber, waiting for a fish to take a peck at it. He knew exactly when to yank on the rod and how to reel it in.”
Alyssa watched Mr. Turner’s eyes as he told the story of Scotty’s fishing obsession. His vision focused on the cloth napkin folding and unfolding in his hands, the passersby outside the window near their table, and off into a world of memories. Never once did his eyes focus on her or Geena. She couldn’t quite figure out what his anecdote had to do with her, but she didn’t mind sitting through the sweet story to get to the punch line.
“We go out when the weather is nice. After the incident at Marigold Elementary, I pulled him out of school and worked from home for a while. I’d sit at the picnic table making phone calls and working on my laptop. Scotty fished. The only difficulties were when I had to break from a conference call to take a fish off the line and throw it back into the water. And, of course, going back in to the house is always hard. He loves sitting out there.” Mr. Turner sighed, maybe picturing his son casting the fishing line out into the lake and watching the bobber until it popped under the water.
Alyssa wondered how many other students with autism would enjoy fishing. She’d always thought outdoor activities were too stressful. Even a field trip to the Wildlife Sanctuary had been fraught with complications. Ami had held her hands over her ears every time the crows announced their presence, Maverick kept trying to climb the trees, Masashi secreted away leaves in his shirt during the walk and ended up with some unidentifiable rash, and Allen refused to walk anywhere once he’d found a slug slowly inching its way across the sidewalk. She loved her students, but the thought of taking them fishing was almost more than her delicate soul could withstand.
Mr. Turner had stopped speaking, a pensive look obscured the characteristically determined look of his face. Alyssa wondered if he had more to say. Surely he hadn’t invited her to discuss fishing.
“It’s lovely that Scotty has found such a peaceful sport, Mr. Turner. Does he have other interests as well?” Geena asked, pleasantly smiling. Her dark eyes trained knowingly on Mr. Turner. Geena always had the right words to say.
“A couple weeks ago I took Scotty skydiving.”
At this, Geena’s pleasant smiling eyes turned into orbs of confusion, or maybe abject horror. Alyssa felt the same way. Scotty? Skydiving? Once again, Geena forcibly morphed her face into an image of content and inquiry. “That sounds interesting. Did he enjoy skydiving?”
“It was the worst experience of his life.” Mr. Turner leaned his head back and rubbed his manicured five o’clock shadow. Guilt was evident on his face as he recalled what must have been a catastrophic event. “The instructor was left with three gashes on his right cheek where Scotty had scratched him during the dive. It took us two hours to calm him down enough to get into the car and then another three days before he could sleep through the night.
Alyssa was speechless. Was this man crazy? Taking Scotty fishing in the back yard was one thing, but throwing him out of an airplane with the sound of wind whistling, air hitting you at 120 miles an hour, and no stability? She wanted to reach across the table and punch him. How could he possibly be upset with her for giving Scotty a Matchbox car when he had made the irresponsible choice to send Scotty skydiving?
“You see, the instructor has worked with special needs kids before. A few of them liked the skydiving thing.” At this, Mr. Turner looked directly into Alyssa’s eyes. Whether he was looking for understanding or forgiveness, she couldn’t tell. “I want Scotty to be provided every opportunity. With the fishing – it clicked. He loved it.”
“But the skydiving, not so much,” Alyssa quantified.
“Yes, not so much.”
“Life is short, Ms. Heartland. You may see it as a long string of years, each blending into the other. Plenty of opportunities for adventure, lots of chances to find something you like.” He began folding the napkin once again, his voice becoming bitter and single-minded as he conveyed his thoughts to the women at the table. “But I see time as a precious commodity. What if Scotty had loved the skydiving? It would have been an adventure that he could have cherished forever. Money, things… none of that matters. It’s the memories. Knowledge. You can never lose those things.” He glanced from the napkin up to Alyssa again. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever lost anyone close to you.”
The statement caught Alyssa off guard. The death was too raw, too new. She wasn’t ready to talk about it yet with someone she barely knew. Even talking about it with friends like Geena and Laurent was hard. She couldn’t possibly discuss her mother’s death with Mr. Turner.
“Mr. Turner.” Geena saved the day, her gentle voice flowing over the table in a wave of concern and empathy. “I completely understand what you’re saying, as does Ms. Heartland. You see, she is still recovering from the recent loss of her mother.”
Alyssa thought she saw Mr. Turner’s face pale a bit as he looked towards the kitchen, maybe hoping the appearance of a waiter would save him from the awkward silence that followed Geena’s statement. Alyssa’s lips felt like they’d been glued shut, her stomach tightened into knots, and she felt an unexpected well of emotion run through her core.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Mr. Turner finally broke the quiet that enveloped the three of them like a choking fog. “So you must understand then. Your mother, didn’t you want the best for her? To have experiences, and memories, and events that filled her life?
Alyssa thought of the dusty picture albums sitting on shelves in her mom’s living room. They were filled with experiences, memories, and events. “I would give all of those things up if I could just have a few more days with her.” She sensed tears spring to her eyes and felt Geena hand her a napkin under the table.
“You would give all of those memories up? You’re saying that you would rather your mother be alive with no past experiences than allow her to live a rich, exciting life albeit shorter than you would prefer?”
Alyssa wiped a tear from her cheek. “I don’t know. I just…” she didn’t know what to think. She felt pinned, confused. Mr. Turner was staring her down like a defendant in criminal court.
“Mr. Turner,” Geena began. “I don’t see why all this is necessary.” Alyssa could sense the anger in Geena’s voice as she began to reprimand Mr. Turner. “Ms. Heartland is a kind and generous teacher. She is only interested in what is best for your son. She will care for him to the best of her ability and she certainly has no plans to take the child skydiving.” Geena’s voice was growing louder and Alyssa glanced around the restaurant concernedly to see if anyone was noticing the drama at the corner table. “If you are not comfortable with her teaching ability, then just say so. You are welcome to pull your son out of our class and once again teach him at the lake shore with a fishing pole, but I assure you, catching fish will not provide him the knowledge of mathematics, science, social studies, and language skills that he needs.” Geena must have noticed her tone because she dropped down to a seething whisper. It was like she’d been boiling for the past week and was finally allowing the steam to escape from the kettle. “Last week Scotty learned about farm animals, skip-counting by fives, and how ice melts faster in your hands than on a plate. Try teaching that to your son while he’s falling ten thousand feet to the ground.”
Mr. Turner took a deep breath and gazed sternly at Geena. Alyssa once again had that feeling of dread, wondering if he was going to end up suing their school as well as Marigold Elementary.
“Ms. Geena,” he said, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the smooth fabric of the tablecloth. “That is exactly what I’m trying to get at.”
It wasn’t at all the answer Alyssa was expecting, but she was anxious enough to want to get to the bottom of their meeting, no longer satisfied with stories and theories. “What, exactly, Mr. Turner, are you trying to get at?” Alyssa hoped that her voice sounded more determined and brave than uncomfortable and scared.
“You see, Scotty…” Mr. Turner looked at Alyssa thoughtfully. It was no longer a piercing accusatory stare, but a contemplative one. As if he were carefully considering his next statement in order to make the most appropriate demand. “There are so many things that Scotty can do. I don’t want him held back by people thinking about what he can’t do. I want him to learn about chickens, and counting by fives, and ice. I want him to experience fishing and skydiving and school. He may not like something. It may be horrible. But… in life there is the good and the bad.” Mr. Turner wiped his brow. Alyssa noted a tremor in his fingers. “In the end, those memories are all we have.”
They all stared quietly at the center of the table. Not one of them knowing what to say next. Both she and Geena were thinking about it, but neither knew if they should say it. Alyssa looked up into Geena’s eyes. Surely she would start the conversation again. But Geena could only bite her lip. The side of Alyssa’s head beat in rhythmic pain as her heart thumped double time.
“I’m sorry Mr. Turner,” Alyssa began. “But I’m going to have to disagree.”
His eyebrow rose in what may have passed for curiosity, but appeared to be more anger than anything else. “You disagree? With what, exactly, do you disagree?”
“Memories aren’t all that we have. I believe that there is so much more than that.”
Mr. Turner tossed his bedraggled napkin to the table. “You’re not going to give me that religion crap, are you?”
“I’m just saying, Mr. Turner. This world is only a moment…”
“Bullshit,” Mr. Turner fumed. His face reddened and Alyssa could almost sense the frustration emanating off his skin. “If this is some sort of cosmic weigh station for a jackass upstairs playing with his little earthly toys, why the hell would he put them through all this?” His arm gestured towards the window where a mom held a crying baby outside the window and a traffic jam was clogging up the street in front of the sidewalk. “Why would he send one kid to a posh neighborhood where he could live in the lap of luxury and another kid to the slums of Haiti where he runs around naked begging for scraps of food? Why is it that a criminal who has killed, raped and tortured children can live off the system, being fed, clothed, and housed until he’s ninety-three and finally dies from heart disease while my loving, innocent child has to suffer from a disease that cannot be cured, that traps him in his own body and mind. Your god has thrown my child into a prison from which he will never be released. Why should I believe that some psychotic supreme being would make children, put them on this planet, and then cause them to suffer like this?”
“Excuse me.” Marvin returned just in time, stepped up to the table, and placed his hand gently on Mr. Turner’s shoulder. “Is everything okay here?” he asked concernedly.
Mr. Turner shook the hand off and stood up from his chair. “Yes, Marvin. Everything’s fine here.” Mr. Turner looked back at the table where Alyssa and Geena were sitting dumbstruck by all that he had just said. “My apologies ladies. I shouldn’t have been quite so adamant. But I feel we should continue to respect the laws of separation of church and state from this point on.”
Marvin stepped back and hesitantly moved to his seat, keeping a tight eye on Mr. Turner. “Glad to see everything’s fine,” Marvin stated, making the effort to lighten the mood at the table. “Have you decided on dessert?”
“No, thank you.” Mr. Turner glanced at his watch. He turned towards Alyssa and glared into her eyes. “I believe that Ms. Heartland and your wife understand my expectations now. I’m not asking for the world, only to provide my son with an appropriate educational experience.”
“Yes, Mr. Turner. I understand.” Something in Alyssa’s bravado stepped up to the plate and began a strong wind up for the upcoming pitch. “I will continue to provide a rigorous, enriching environment in which your son can thrive. I will also ensure his adherence to established social skills as deemed appropriate in our country. I will guarantee Scotty’s safety in my classroom to the best of my ability. But keep in mind, Mr. Turner. I am a human being. I am imperfect. God made me this way. The same way he made you imperfect and the same way he made Scotty imperfect. God has a plan. We may not understand it now. We may never understand it. But it is real, it is defining, and it is good. So, you may not approve of my religion, but I will continue to pray for Scotty, along with the other children in my class. And I will pray for you, Mr. Turner. Because it breaks my heart to think that you would assume life ends when we die. I believe that my mother and father are in a better place. And I believe that I too will be with them someday.”
Alyssa felt Geena’s hand on her shoulder. Glancing around the restaurant, she noticed that the few patrons were awkwardly pretending to ignore her tirade. She pushed a stray hair out of her face and sat up a little straighter.
Mr. Turner stood silently for a moment, and then turned abruptly, leaving the restaurant without reply.
Purchase Taking Pictures by Rachael Sircar in ebook or Paperback on Amazon.com.