The Seagull Way: A Mostly-True Short Story

by John Hosh

chimneys. Stretching and flapping, he ignored a kit of young pigeons — ten or twelve — who congregated from time to time at level-two’s east end. It was Delbert’s habit and Firenze’s habit to disparage and to revile the innocent pigeons until Delbert had exhausted all the insults in his repertory. Then he would quip Who wants to peck a sparrow? Firenze would answer gleefully I do! I do! Then the two of them would run at the pigeons, who would scatter off the building. When the pigeons were gone, Delbert and Firenze would laugh and chuckle and snicker. The platforms had no toys and few curiosities to keep the seagulls entertained; so it was that Delbert and Firenze owed their good times exclusively to the nervous and panicked pigeons.

  In the evening of 5 September Delbert made his bed in a new spot, namely, the northwest corner of level-two. He did not put his head down until Venus was visible. He may have been sad because Firenze was not there to say goodnight.

  On 6 September the day was cloudy. At ten o’clock Martha and Heathcliff were on top of the building. Heathcliff remarked, “I’ve nothing to say about the girl. I think we did a fine job with her. I wish she would have talked to me more but we’ve had some good conversations, and I’m confident we see eye-to-eye on most issues. No! The problem, as I see it, is the boy. He spends all his time sleeping. He hasn’t any enthusiasm. He hasn’t any ambition. He should be flapping all day long if he wants to fly soon. He should be ashamed his sister is airworthy before he is. I think we have to do something.”

  Martha asked, “What do you think we should do?”

  “I think we should push him over the edge.”

  “WHAT?”

  “If he goes over the edge, he will either fly or—” Heathcliff shrugged.

  “He isn’t ready. He’ll fly when he’s ready.”

  “He’s never going to be ready if he doesn’t do something to become stronger and to build endurance. All he does is sleep. I think there’s something wrong with him. I’m not sure it’s worth feeding him any longer. He could be like that shiftless brother of yours.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Delbert. He’s big. He needs much food and much sleep. It doesn’t matter if he flies a day sooner or a day later. You shouldn’t trouble yourself over a matter of no consequence.”

  “He should be feeding himself by now.”

  “If we weren’t feeding him, what else would we be doing?”

  “I was thinking we could go upriver.”

  “Why would you rather go up a river than take care of your son?”

  “I thought it would be good for you to get away.”

  “I haven’t any reason to get away. I’m perfectly happy here to be helping Delbert.”

  “I’m just worried you’re making the boy too soft. I don’t want him expecting salmon at every meal. Life is hard. He should learn that early.”

  “Why?”

  “So he knows.”

  “And after he knows life is hard, then what?”

  “He’ll be saved some disappointment when things don’t turn out as he hopes.”

  “How do you know things won’t turn out as he hopes?”

  “That’s the way life is. One has hopes and dreams, and they are dashed. You think it’s all smooth sailing, and then SMASH! You do your best but it’s never good enough! You don’t get anywhere. Obstacles knock you down. You want to do something for yourself but you can’t because you have responsibilities weighing you down. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “We have a boy and a girl who are both going to fly and to make us proud. We haven’t any responsibility that is weighing us down. We are fine. Our children are fine. Your worrying is pointless. I’m sure Delbert will fly in a day or two. Then if you want to go up the river, we will wish you a pleasant journey. I’ll talk to Firenze. Perhaps she will encourage Delbert. You should talk to him about landing. Tell him about sweeping up and dropping.”

  “I don’t see the point in talking to him until he tells me he’s ready to fly. If I tell him now, it’ll be a case of in-one-ear-and-out-the-other. I think we should wait until he’s ready for a grand send-off. I’ve thought of a few words I might use to celebrate the occasion. I don’t mind making his great day one he’ll remember forever. He’ll be grateful when he’s older. You’ll see.”

  On 5 September, in the afternoon and after the rain stopped, Delbert was more active than usual. I saw him catch a gust and stay aloft for several seconds. His wingspan was as great as his mother’s. If he could not fly, I guessed his problem was only a lack of confidence. I expected he might use the several steps that his sister took. I expected to see him jump down to level-three first; then make some hops between level-three and level-four.

  Just before noon on 6 September I went out onto my balcony when I heard the squawking of gulls. The squawks issued from Martha and Heathcliff, who were looking down from level-one. Firenze was striding westward on level-four. Delbert was looking at Firenze from level-two. Martha and Heathcliff took wing when I turned my binoculars on them.

  “They’re trying to be helpful. They’re concerned about you,” Firenze said to Delbert. “They think there’s something wrong. They say you should be flying.”

  “Yeah, about that Sis, I—”

  “Flying is really easy. I know you can do it. You need to believe you can do it; then you can.”

  “I know. I’m sure I can fly.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “Well, not really but—”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Our father said he was thinking about pushing you over the edge.”

  “Well, isn’t he a splendid example of fatherliness! Look, you don’t have to worry. I just want a few more days to prepare. Just give me a few more meals. I mean days. Just give me a few more days; then I will tell them I’m ready. Here! I’ll fly for you; then you tell them you’re sure I will be ready soon. Then everybody can relax.”

  I was astonished to see Delbert lift off from level-two without a run or any hesitation. He spread his great wings and lifted himself skyward as if he were a mature bird. He made three circuits around the condominium tower. On the third circuit, he headed for level-four, where the slender Firenze was. With his great wings, I expected that stocky Delbert would sweep up and drop beside Firenze with the lightness of a sparrow.

  Frantically, Firenze shouted, “TOO FAST!”

  Coming almost directly from the east, Delbert was too fast and too high. He was not sweeping up with the prospect of dropping. He was descending like an airplane that was headed for an automobile service-station north of the airport. Like a plate of spaghetti, Delbert smacked into the wall that was the back to levels four and five!

  Like a furry fluttering meatball, Delbert fell into an enclosure on level-five, the lowest level on the building’s top. The enclosure at the east end of level-five — the penthouse-level — was two meters wide and four meters long. Its wall was everywhere at least one meter deep.

  Firenze called anxiously, “Delbert! Delbert!” When Delbert did not respond, Firenze broke into tears.

  Three minutes passed. I assumed Delbert was dead. I was about to say so long, Delbert, when he lifted his head high, stretched his impressive wings and paced back and forth like a sailor who had had too much rum. After a few minutes of pacing, Delbert spent a minute flapping and hopping half-heartedly. I assumed he was preparing to leap over the enclosure’s low east or low north sides. Instead he threw himself against the enclosure’s high south side. He tried again and again to climb the south side. When he was persuaded that the south side was not the way to go, he tried repeatedly to climb the west side.

  I was going to shout, “C’mon, Delbert! You’re a gull — not a housefly” or “Hey over there! You’re not a hummingbird”; but I recalled several occasions when someone’s well-intentioned witticisms evoked some angry responses from bystanders. In truth, I recalled an occasion when those witticisms elicited some very disturbing vulgarity; and since Delbert was unlikely to hear m
e because of the enclosure’s walls; and since Firenze was weeping although Delbert kept shouting that he was fine, I decided to keep my wisdom to myself.

  After a half-hour of climbing and falling and probably a concussion or two and then a short respite, Delbert launched himself northward. He almost cleared the wall but his left wing nicked it. Flinging Delbert beak-first against the building, the wayward wing put him in a narrow channel between two projecting walls that went all the way to the ground. Delbert tried to climb but his efforts were futile. Right side up, he slid down the channel over sections of painted metal and over sections of glass.

  A stand of several evergreens blocked my view of the building’s lower floors; so I did not see Delbert hit the ground. I thought it unlikely that he could survive a fall of seventeen floors but I decided nevertheless to go look for him. Not many minutes later I arrived at the spot where he should have been but I could not find him. I imagined a Doberman or a pit bull or perhaps a starving cat had taken him. I was sad that Delbert’s great day had ended so gruesomely.

  Sipping coffee on my balcony one hour after I had last seen Delbert, I heard the excited squawking of gulls. I whirled toward the condominium tower and saw a brown gull rocket out of the east toward level-four. The lithe Firenze bawled, “TOO—!”

  Like a plate of ravioli, the reckless flyer crashed into the wall at level-four’s west side. It’s déjà vu I thought while I was wondering who