Gradle Bird

by J. C. Sasser

  Gradle imitated Delvis’s stretching exercises, and when he gave her the signal, they both stopped.

  “Your body feel loose and warm?” he asked.

  “I feel like taffy candy,” she said.

  “What flavor?”

  “Banana.”

  “I’m feelin’ blueberry,” he said. “Now, I’m gonna teach you my very own divin’ techniques. These are professional techniques only I know. They are copyrighted in the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. along with all of my other materials. You cannot under any circumstances tell anybody about these techniques.”

  “Cross my heart and swear to God,” she said.

  “You ain’t supposed to swear to God, Gradle. It says that in the Bible.”

  “Swear to Jesus.”

  “They’re the same. Pick somebody else.”

  “I swear to the sun.”

  He scratched his head, turned back to the rising sun as if to determine if it would mind. “The sun ain’t a somebody,” he said.

  “I swear to you, then.”

  He smiled and led her to the dumpsters where a pack of mangy dogs nosed the dirt. He ran back to his car, popped the trunk, and scattered a bag of kibble on the ground. The dogs waited for him to get out of range, then gobbled the food down as they growled at each other for position.

  “None of ‘em will let me touch ‘em,” he said. He lunged to the left and then to the right. He touched his toes twice, leapt on the dumpster’s lip like a cat, and scared off the buzzards.

  “First,” he said, as he walked along the dumpster’s ledge, “you gotta scope your dive. Check for hidden stumps under the water and what have you. People who ain’t professional don’t do this and end up gettin’ bad hurt. Break their necks and some get paralyzed. It’s a dangerous job, I’m tellin’ you. Most dangerous job in America.”

  He walked the dumpster’s perimeter one last time and stopped on one of the corners. “Now you gotta prepare for your dive. Nonprofessionals don’t do this either. It’s important to take one deep breath in.” He breathed in and raised his arms over his head, bringing his hands together to a point. “And breathe out,” he said. He brought his arms back down to his side. “Do that twice, but only twice. If you do it more than that, you’ll start thinkin’ too much about possible underwater stumps even though you’ve already checked for them in the scoping exercise. Now, it’s time to determine the dive type. Again, nonprofessionals do a straight dive. Some of them better-than-nonprofessionals, but not as good as professionals like me, might try to get fancy and do a jack-knife type dive. Me, on the other hand, I do what’s called the swan dive. I invented it and it’s copyrighted, too.” He paused long enough to catch his breath. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Ready,” she said, having no idea what she was ready for.

  “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. I’m a true professional.”

  She held her breath as Delvis’s arms rose above his head. His arms fell back down to his thighs, and he repeated the rise and fall. He rose on his tiptoes, and after counting to three, he dove from the dumpster’s edge. He flew through the air, his arms spread wide open, his body arched. His legs were straight and glued perfectly together. He looked beautiful, more beautiful than his abandoned junk backdrop she had thought so beautiful only minutes before.

  Gradle climbed up on its edge after he disappeared in the dumpster and looked inside. He lay flat on his back, his eyes fixed above on the bluing sky.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “This is where I was borned. Right here. Just like this. On a bed of trash. That’s how divin’ got in my blood.” He popped to his feet. “Let’s get to business,” he said, picking through the trash. “I’m lookin’ for metal door hinges, chains, deadbolts, and padlocks,” he said. “If you find any on your mission, I’d appreciate you savin’ ‘em for me.”

  “What’s my mission?” she asked.

  “Whatever you want it to be,” he said. He hopped out of the dumpster and went hunting atop a junk mound.

  Gradle bunched her dress above her knees and wandered through the dump, finding it curious what people chose to throw away. She picked up a pink pacifier and wondered if she ever had a little girl, would this be something she could ever part with. She wondered if she had one when she was a little baby, and if she did, had Grandpa kept it. Was there a box hidden somewhere with all of her keepsakes, and if so, did Grandpa ever bring it out, stroke a lock of her baby hair or roll her baby teeth between his fingers? Or had he just thrown it all away? Was her baby hair in some dump, decomposing alongside her sixteen-year-old diapers? Were her teeth fossilizing beneath a sedimentary layer of trash? She cleaned the pacifier off with some spit and kept it cupped in her palm as she sifted through more trash.

  The sun rose higher, got hotter, and started cooking all of the smells: souring watermelon rind, motor oil, crayons, car metal, and rust. Gradle picked through the trash and found two dried leather belts and a brand new pack of red and white shoelaces still marked with a price tag of sixty-nine cents. She decided to use them to make a guitar strap for Delvis so he could wear his instrument around his neck.

  On her way back to the car, Delvis appeared over a trash mound draped in metal chains. He carried deadbolts, metal hinges, and padlocks in his arms, and dragged a roll of rusted barbed wire behind him like a train of a wedding dress. He dumped his loot in the Opel Kadett’s trunk. It sagged from all of the weight.

  “What’re you gonna do with all that?” she asked.

  “Booby-traps for intruders,” he said.

  Perfumed with fruity-smelling trash, they drove down the dirt road, through the green country, and into the deep woods back to Delvis’s shack. The sun had disappeared behind a canvas of creamy steel. They unloaded their findings and set them out on the porch. A bouquet of swamp lilies with a note rested against the front door.

  Delvis grabbed the note and read it out loud, “I CAME TO CLAIM WHAT’S MINE. I’M READY FOR A WESTERN STYLE DUEL IF THAT’S WHAT IT WILL TAKE TO GET GRADLE BACK IN MY ARMS. SINCERELY, CEIF ‘THE ELECTRIC GUNSLINGER’ WALKER.”

  “That boy done come up here to try and steal you away,” Delvis said, handing her the note. “He better be glad we weren’t here ‘cause I don’t need no advanced notice for a duel. I can fire and shoot within two seconds, ninety-seven percent accurate each and every time.” He gently lifted the flowers and placed them on the red Dairy Queen booth. “Maybe we can get us some fingerprints off those so we can nail that hobo-monkey real good.” He grabbed the rake propped against the wall and raked in front of the door. “I’m seein’ if I can find any footprints of his so we can nail him double time.”

  Gradle read the note and a hot wave of anger surged through her body. “This is a joke, Delvis,” she said, wondering how on earth she would describe something as tricky as a joke to Delvis. “Do you know what a joke is?”

  “It’s when somebody’s tryin’ to be mean to somebody else,” he said. “Like them boy’s laughin’ at me at the way I drawn a turkey that one time.”

  “Yeah, jokes are supposed to be funny. Ceif doesn’t want to steal me. It’s Sonny Joe. He’s trying to poke fun at you. It’s a game to him.”

  “It ain’t that boy,” Delvis said. He spat off the porch. “It’s the other one. The crippled one my dog Rain got after. See,” he pointed to the note. “He even put his signature on it.” He resumed raking in front of the door. “I can’t let him steal you. I won’t let it happen.”

  Gradle paced the porch. If Sonny Joe were here now, she would strangle him. “I have to go somewhere,” she said. “I’m taking your car.” She hurried through the yard, cranked the Opel Kadett, and spun the tires onto the dirt road.

  Delvis sprinted after her, yelling, “Where’re you going! You can’t be out alone! That boy’ll steal you!”

  She stared through the rearview mirror at Delvis running after her and shaking the rake. It made her sad to leave him behind without an explanation, but
no matter how thorough and deep she explained all of this, she knew Delvis would never understand the facts.

  “I’ll protect you Gradle!” he hollered.

  She pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard and left him in a swarm of glittering dust as she fishtailed down the road.

  The Kadett shot out on the highway like a burst of fire. An oncoming storm faced her. It churned a wicked grey and started to spit down on the windshield as she sped down the road. When she arrived at the abandoned church, she parked the Opel Kadett sideways, blocking in Sonny Joe’s truck.

  She ran through the rain, inside the church, and found Ceif sitting on the front pew, reading his Bible, his little mouth mumbling the verses out loud as he ate with his hands from a can of sardines.

  “Where’s Sonny Joe?” she asked, as he scarfed down a sardine.

  “Four pews back,” Ceif said. “He’s hungover.”

  She found Sonny Joe with his hand shoved down his jeans and his mouth hung open like it was snagged by a hook. His T-shirt and a half-pint of Southern Comfort sat on the floor beside him, and one arm reached out toward the bottle as if he had passed out in the middle of reaching for one last sip.

  Gradle poured what was left in the bottle on Sonny Joe’s face. “Rise and shine,” she said.

  He came up spitting. “What the fuck?” He grabbed his T-shirt, wiped his face, and finally removed his hand from the front of his pants. He wadded his T-shirt and threw it at the back of Ceif’s head. “What’re you laughing at?”

  Gradle leaned into Sonny Joe’s face and received an unwanted whiff of his sour breath. “Leave Delvis alone.”

  “What’re you talking about, crazy girl?”

  “The notes on his door. The phone call at the Piggly Wiggly. The flowers left on his porch. You’re pretending to be Ceif. Don’t play dumb.” She wadded up the note and threw it into Sonny Joe’s face. “Leave him alone. Save your bullshit games for your pretty little fish.”

  “Come on, Gradle Bird. I’m just having a little fun,” he said. He licked the liquor from his shoulder’s skin.

  “He’s dangerous,” she said.

  Sonny Joe walked into her space. She could feel his heat, his magnetism.

  He lit a cigarette. “Is that why you like him so much?” he asked. He blew smoke in her face. “I’m not dangerous enough for you?”

  “Leave him alone,” she said, and she walked out of the church into the storm.

  Delvis crouched, put his nose down on the rain-splashed road, and took a big fat sniff. He couldn’t find it. All he picked up was the asphalt and rain, a little bit of car oil, and a little bit of blood from the opossum he saw lying dead on this very spot of road four months back. He crawled up and down the road, sniffing, as the rain spanked his back, but still he couldn’t find it.

  He had tracked the Kadett down the dirt road, but when the road let out on the highway he had nothing to follow, except his nose. Typically, he could find it, her girlie green scent, because he was born with special nose holes that were designed to pick up her smell. But today the best he could smell was the leftovers of that opossum that got killed here four months ago.

  He blew his nose hard, thinking perhaps it was clogged, and sniffed the road again. Still he couldn’t find it. Maybe the rain had something to do with it. He paced up and down the road. He had no idea which way Gradle had gone. He didn’t know why she had run off so quick or where she was headed, because when he hollered after her she didn’t holler back. Maybe her heart had changed, instantly, like how a cricket all of a sudden decides to stop chirping with no warning. Maybe she had gone to visit that crippled boy so she could be back in his arms so tight.

  He fell down on his knees in the middle of the road, locked his fingers together, and prayed in the Christ name of Jesus. He prayed Gradle’s heart hadn’t changed and asked God to bring her back soon because he didn’t know if he could bear his life without her. She was the only real true friend he ever had. He prayed in the middle of the road until he had backed up a line of three cars. They honked their horns and the drivers cussed out of the window, trying to make his life a living hell. When he couldn’t take the honking and cussing anymore, he stood, performed some kung-fu moves for effect, and then directed the traffic to go on their way as if he were a professional traffic cop.

  With no scent to track, he walked back home. He thought he’d wait until the rain stopped, and then he’d try out his special nose holes again, because he was now convinced the rain had something to do with it.

  The rain kept on, but within minutes of him getting back home he swore he started to smell the color green. He threw his nose up in the air. Not only could he smell her, but he could hear her breathing, almost panting, because he had special ear holes for that, too. He ran through the rain and stood in the yard. His body felt like it was crawling with ants.

  And just like that, she appeared. She parked the Kadett in the yard, and before she could get out on her own, he offered her his hand, and before she could stand, he pulled her into him and hugged her as tight as he could. She hugged him back. He wished they could stay like that forever and wondered if that Medusa lady with the snake hair he’d read about in a booked called Mythology was anywhere around, because if she was, he would make it a point to look in her eyes so he and Gradle could turn to stone.

  “Delvis,” she mumbled into his chest, “you’re hugging me too tight. I can’t breathe.”

  He released his grip, but once Gradle caught her breath, he hugged her as tight as he could again. He’d never hugged anyone in his entire life, nor had he ever been hugged back, and it was the best feeling he thought he would ever know, even better than when his dog Rain would lick him on the neck.

  “It’s okay, Delvis,” she said, wiggling her way out of his grip. “Nobody’s gonna take me away from you.”

  He leaned in to hug her again, but she moved away. He wasn’t yet a professional hugger, but he was smart enough to know she didn’t want to be hugged again.

  “Where’d you go?” he asked. He followed her through the rain and onto the porch.

  “I went to tell Sonny Joe to leave you alone.”

  Delvis sat on the Dairy Queen booth and fiddled with the piles of chains and padlocks and metal door hinges he’d picked from the dump. “Did that crippled boy try and trap you?”

  “No,” she said, shaking the rain from her dress. “Ceif doesn’t want to steal me. Nobody wants to steal me. Sonny Joe is playing with you for his own entertainment.”

  “If that boy wants to be entertained, he can come up here and I’ll play him some of my original rock ‘n roll style music,” he said.

  She sat beside him on the booth and touched his hand. “Don’t let him drive you crazy,” she said. “Relax. Enjoy the rain.”

  He stared out at the grey rain and tried to do what Gradle had asked, but he couldn’t turn his mind off. He had searched his head for an off button, a knob to turn, or a switch to flip when his mind started sparking the way it was now, but every time he hunted for the off lever, he never found anything of the sort. He figured it was something God had forgotten when he made him. As much as he wanted to forget about that crippled boy writing all of those nasty notes and leaving Gradle flowers and threatening him to a duel, he couldn’t. Although Gradle had told him nobody wanted to steal her away, he didn’t believe it one bit because he had seen it written in plain ink and had heard the boy say it when he called him on the Piggly Wiggly pay phone. There was no way that boy was going to take her away from him. No way. No how. No sir. Not under his watch.

  All of a sudden his senses stood on high alert. He could hear the rain screaming as it fell, and along with the screaming rain, he heard rocks hitting against his tin roof. That boy had done come up here, trying to distract him and make his life a living hell. He shot up from the booth and ran out into the yard. He turned his laser vision on and saw the boy limping toward his house carrying a bouquet of flowers and his cane, but when Delvis ran to the place he s
aw him, he wasn’t there or anywhere around. He sniffed the air. His special nose holes smelled the bouquet of lilies, even through all of the rain, so he knew that crippled boy must be around somewhere.

  He walked the perimeter of his house three times, looking for the boy. He shook the bushes and the chinaberry tree.

  “Delvis!” Gradle called from the porch. “What’re you doing?”

  “Enjoyin’ the rain,” he said, lying to make her feel better because that was what she wanted him to do. He squatted and crawled up under the house. He heard the boy whispering out at him in the darkness, but Delvis’s laser vision couldn’t find him. He crawled to all four corners, through the cobwebs and hornet’s nests, and in and out of the holes his dog Rain had dug when he was alive, but he couldn’t find that boy in any of them.

  “I’m gonna steal her away from you. She’s mine,” he heard the boy whisper behind his back. Delvis spun around, arched his back, and hissed like a cat, but the boy must have hid again in one of the dark corners because Delvis didn’t see him when he turned around. He plotted the area under the house and crawled over every square inch of it, front and back, side to side. When he finished combing the area, he went back over it a second time, and then a third time to be safe because he wasn’t going to let that boy take his one and only real true friend under his watch. No way. No how. No sir.

  When he crawled out from under his house, it was twilight. The rain fell soft. A whippoorwill hollered in the distance and the bullfrogs burped like drunks. The early night was loud with sounds, but quiet and hollow, too. He felt something missing. He patted all of his pockets then raced to the front porch. He couldn’t find Gradle anywhere around. His heart got a Charlie-horse and cramped up inside him. He had kept his eyes off Gradle for too long, and that boy had figured out a way to sneak up on her and take her.