JRZDVLZ

by Lee Klein

  “No, Japhet, you were not alone. Farmers also attest to glowing eyes at the edge of the wilderness.”

  “Our work may bring this devil some peace.”

  I was a man whose form was unfortunate, disordered, a deformed composite. But not a devil, even if my actions were devilish. Perhaps if I spoke to them?

  III

  Silently I swooped, landing on hooves, my heron-like legs springy, my leathery wings spread wider than the printing quarters’ breadth. My eldest brother and cousin laid out letters that recounted my tragic arrival. Perhaps these men might understand that I would never again open another chest and suck the organs out.

  I tried to introduce myself in a calming, diplomatic tone: “Dear brother Japhet and cousin Titan, please realize there is no need to hunt me, for I am not a threat, I should not be held accountable for regrettable actions, for what I did to our family, I am repentant, and would like to atone and do good, so please help me perhaps achieve that goal, my brother, my cousin, having no father and now, unfortunately, no mother, I ask you to shelter me and raise me as an odd sibling.”

  All these words traveled from mind to mouth at once. A horrifying screech forced their arms to disrupt the bed of type. They careened against the far wall and, lacking a more perfect articulation for their fright, screamed as well.

  “No, no, hush, no,” I said—or tried to say—“I only mean to make amends.”

  I screeched in a way I hoped might indicate a complicated soul, though such comprehension seemed overshadowed by what stood before them.

  Japhet recovered first. He grabbed a musket and prayed aloud that it was packed. It clicked. He searched for powder and ball.

  Titan fell to the floor. He stared dumbstruck. By the time either man regained speech, I had flapped my horrid wings and disappeared.

  Armed with an axe and a musket loaded with ammunition, they stepped from the printing quarters, savoring this step as the last of their lives, expecting me to secure them to my soft furry underbelly with my long tail like a constricting snake, fly them over the ocean, and drop them among the white caps. But they survived that first step, meeting only morning silence and a stillness charged with terror.

  “A new Man of Signs,” said Titan.

  “A what?” Japhet whispered.

  “We must undertake a new Man of Signs,” said Titan. “Every aspect of the beast seems like some distortion of the astrological visages of bull, ram, crab, fish, scorpion—bat, rat, dog, horse, crane, even what they call the kangaroo”

  “A horrid joke of a beast, a hideous yet almost humorous assemblage.”

  “Yes,” said Titan, “we must repair the text and describe this weird fiend in detail.”

  Titan’s father, Daniel, made his way to them. His hair was steely. A taste for cranberry wine had made him heavy. Youth had been lost in all respects except in eyes capable of sympathy and sorrow.

  “Who screamed?” he said as he rambled into the quarters, ready to mete out blows.

  “We both,” replied his son, “but you also heard the beast.”

  “You did not destroy it?”

  “We must keep the musket loaded,” said Japhet.

  “We need guards day and night,” said Titan, “as we describe the vision seared in our memories. We will depict it, print it, and disperse this knowledge as soon as possible. It will be our final publication, freely distributed, and then we will commit ourselves to defense against this beast.”

  “Better to wield words as weapon and warning,” said Daniel.

  “We will warn and then hunt, and perhaps when the threat is ended return to what once was, if serenity may ever again exist.”

  When Pastor Dade heard that Mowas Leeds’s newborn had not been found, he claimed it had been born a devil, as prophesied— bastard spawn of a British soldier, spurred by the mother’s insolence, cursed by the community entire. Yet all remaining Leeds believed that the newborn, like its mother, siblings, and the midwives, had all been victims—otherwise they were related to a monster on the loose.

  The printing quarters were guarded by a dozen armed men, the perimeter of the Leeds’s home surrounded. If the Leeds sought to profit from their encounter, to capitalize on horror, skepticism may have halved the militia. But with no mind for profit, belief in their words and actions spread, as did alarm.

  The fear had once been of witches, although most now believed those unfortunate women were victims of injustice and that simple eccentricities did not merit such a fate. But my appearance outside the printing quarters, the sight they saw was real. They focused on my legs. All else may have been elaborate costume, but those spindly, springy legs, appropriate on some avian marsh predator, coated in the rubbery hide of a littleneck clam, each limb was far too thin to hide a human leg, whereas the torso was too short to conceal even a teenager on peculiarly pliable stilts. The screech belonged to an unidentifiable animal, as well, a sound with direct access to bones and blood.

  An impossible fact before their eyes, indubitable, unbelievable. Perhaps the water of this New World caused collective psychosis. That was the only sane possibility: everyone was mad.

  Pastor Dade of Estellville appeared grim, prideful, straight-backed. Crossing the clearing in front of Daniel Leeds’s home, he was armed with an aura of righteousness, a rectitude that might compel even the most industrious and upright, such as Titan, to relinquish benevolence in pursuit of sin.

  “He comes,” Titan said as he rested in the shadow of an oak.

  Japhet emerged from the printing quarters as though he had sensed Dade’s appearance from far off. “Dade,” he said. The surname alone carried the sting of an epithet.

  “Dade,” Titan said, and he spat.

  With each step, Dade seemed to need to pull each foot from some deep penetration in the ground. Titan would not sit in shadowed grass if Dade occupied the same yard. He stood to meet this intruder, and with each step he became stronger, confronted by this moral leader who cursed his family for sheltering the enemy.

  “Dade,” said Titan. “An honor.”

  “Titan Leeds, a pleasure, as always, to greet one of the country’s most renowned printers of almanacs. I see you still haven’t fallen dead per Poor Richard’s predictions.”

  “Alive, if not well, as you are here now, but not welcome.”

  “Very good, very good. As fluent as ever when it comes to wasteful words. A master articulator of insult,” said Dade with exaggerated smugness.

  “Let’s be done with you,” said Titan.

  I had been napping in my new home, cradled in the crown of the royal oak, after a night flight in search of sustenance to the barrier islands, unpopulated dunes along the coast where gulls and the occasional pelican succumbed to the velocity of my hunger. The batting white eyelash of the surf reflected the moon, and this calmed me, made me believe that life was possible alone, but then curiosity surged and before dawn I returned to visit those who hunted me.

  Usually the tree rang with hundreds of birds, but now it was silent thanks to my presence. From my vantage, I saw my cousin Titan confront a man dressed all in black.

  “You have amassed men and arms, I see,” said Dade, “but such force cannot contain supernatural energies.”

  “Do you come with another curse? Your last was a success.”

  “Blame the beast, not me.”

  “Did you not curse poor Mowas?”

  “I cursed her actions, not the woman.”

  “Leave this land before I turn the men against you.”

  “I am a man of peace.”

  “Wielding terror.”

  Japhet joined Titan and stared as though his eyes alone might end Dade’s life.

  “A terrible thing you witnessed,” Dade said, “the most terrible tragedy I have lived through in this country.”

  “I don’t remember your presence that night,” said Japhet. “It is a shame you could not replace any of my brothers and sisters. Even Odd William.”

  “Such tongues in
this family,” said Dade. “Worthy allies, if only you might direct your scorn at the beast, the devil child, the monster.”

  “What then do you offer us?” said Titan. “It seems neither arms nor comfort.”

  “I wield a power uncommon among men.”

  “We are familiar with it.”

  “If you let me, perhaps I can help in some small measure.”

  Securing Dade’s promise that he would not disturb them, Titan and Japhet returned to work while Dade stood like a bulwark against the imperfections of arms.

  Dade appeared each morning, standing among them and yet apart. He was as regular a presence as the sun that daily lost strength. Winds swept trees clean as the pages of Titan Leeds’s final publication were blown by messengers across the territory. An image of me appeared on one page with arrows leading from descriptions of my disparate features. A complete transcript of Japhet’s account followed, supported by Dr. Thorpe, that recounted the horrors they’d encountered, news much of the territory had heard by word of mouth and thereafter used to explain the disappearance of livestock, strange sights, eccentric behavior, sickness, fires.

  Once upon a dark time, if lightning struck a house it burned freely as those with water watched. Such were the Lord’s wishes: the owners of the house deserved punishment. But now they blamed this devil of Leeds Point, which they believed controlled the land before even the Indians settled it, this beast that sought to reclaim its territories from indulgent Englishmen. Atop the oak, I heard that some were calling for all settlers to return to the Crown, to leave this land to its dragon. Others hoped to slay the beast and savor a hero’s spoils (hoarded maidens and piles of gold). The two months of sea travel that separated the colonies from Europe had sent these men thousands of years back in time. Thanks to my birth, they now seemed to live in a legendary era.

  Every word I heard referred to me and separated me from my fellow men. The supernatural presence of horns and wings, tail and hooves, disrupted commonalities of feeling and thought. But now, as its leaves fell, the oak was less able to shield me from view. I saw my breath as though it streamed with smoke. Scales and wings kept me warm, but when it rained I longed for warmth. I hid in outhouses most nights as the weather turned, sleeping with an ear out for sleep-dazed wanderers in need of relief. Accentuation of scent seemed an essential aspect of my penance.

  Leaves all down, spending nights in outhouses, I wished to prove my worth and redeem myself to those who met at my family’s home, armed themselves there, and then investigated claims, footprints, slaughtered animals, disappeared children. I could attain such an exceptional height that someone on the ground might think me an eagle, but uncontrollable curiosity and a nascent taste for risk compelled another appearance.

  Guards on duty either slept or occupied themselves in endless chatter. Such a waste of speech. Blessed with half their ability I would set myself right with everyone and protect the territory from every threat. Oh how I would help them if only they compre-hended my speech. This elder Daniel to whom they defer, perhaps he might have some patience with me.

  His house seemed identical to that of my birth. I slipped down the chimney. I climbed the steps in silence. I heard snoring, the loudest from a room with door ajar. I poked it open with the end of my snout. I feared my steady beating heart would wake them. Whatever life I had, better it end than not attempt this.

  Daniel slept alone, still on his side of the small bed, preserving his late wife’s impression in the mattress. Beside the bed a sheet had fallen. I cut two slits in it with a fingernail and let the rest fall over my body. Wings packed tight behind me, tail coiled best I could, all the words I wanted to say gathered in my lungs. I shut my mouth so not to lose my words and disturb the sleeper. I allowed the least bit of breath to escape through my teeth.

  “Pssst,” I said. “Pssst.”

  The sleeper stirred but did not wake.

  I tried again, this time nudging the bed with my body. “Pssst.”

  “What? What?” said Daniel, his eyes opening. Confronted with a standing bedsheet, he seemed to think he was still asleep.

  “Shhh,” I said. “I come in peace.”

  “Are you not some dream?”

  “Do not alert the others. Let them sleep and awake tomorrow safe.”

  “If I am asleep,” Daniel said, “let this nightmare end.”

  “You understand me.”

  “Your voice is unlike any I’ve heard, though I have never heard a bedsheet speak. Perhaps my pillow would speak in tones more soothing than your disturbed rasps.”

  “It is a great joy.”

  “Tell me your name, oh most peculiar bedsheet.”

  “I am called ‘The Beast,’ a living dragon, the accursed devil of Leeds.”

  “No name at birth?” “No more than screams.”

  “But why should I believe you are not one of my grandchildren having some fun? If you are the beast you claim to be, reveal yourself, and if you promise not to consume me, I promise not to alarm anyone.”

  “I am not a grandson, but a sort of nephew, though my father wasn’t your brother.”

  “Before I grow impatient, pull the sheet from yourself.”

  “Reactions have not varied, I warn you.”

  “If you do not drop the sheet, your mother will punish you till the return of spring.”

  I spread my wings and the bedsheet rose and fell to the floor.

  “I am scared beyond belief. Egads! Titan’s descriptions inspired such a costume, surely. Now let me sleep.”

  “Sadly, it is I. Repentant sinner, damned, accursed, humbly asking forgiveness.”

  “For so horrid a beast you speak with earnestness and passion. But why trust you?”

  “Grandfather?” a young voice said—a girl rubbed her eyes and stood in the doorway. “You talk in your sleep again.”

  I turned toward the voice to see a child no taller than the door handle, in night gown, hair tangled with sleep.

  All the tension of this contact transformed when I saw her. I lost control of my voice. Endless beseechment sprang from my mouth in a screech. The girl was unhappy with the sight and the sound. Daniel then took up a sort of sphere he kept by his bedside and hurled it at me, striking the side of my snout. The girl stumbled toward the stairs, and I moved toward her. I was stunned by the sphere that hit me, that loosened a tooth. She might fall down the stairs, I thought, as I stumbled, my legs unsteady, unbalanced. I fell toward the girl, righted myself, crouched, wings spread in the narrow landing at the top of the stairs. I reached for the girl and attempted a soothing word but it came out wrong, all at once again, accompanied by spread wings and outstretched claws. The child flung herself down the stairs as Daniel stood and aimed another throw that ricocheted off my leathery wings. I dove for the girl, catching her before she hit her head on a step, but I caught her in my claws, never having touched a human, and the girl screamed, as much from fright as pain. Traces of blood appeared where I had touched her. At the top of the stairs Titan and Japhet and their wives emerged. Japhet aimed a musket but hesitated before firing for fear of hitting the girl, and in that second I escaped up the chimney.

  Open air, an hour until morning, shots fired, a searing incision where wing meets back, I tumbled, more shots, torches, another ball in my body, in my meaty rump.

  “Cease your fire, I come in peace, to help however I can,” I tried but words came in a rush. My failure to express myself in human speech forced me to run at the nearest musket and cut its bearer’s throat with a swipe. Another raised his weapon and I leapt into the air, landing on his head, which I removed like a cork from a bottle. I feared I would have to battle them all. Pain surged, as well as regret at escalating the carnage of my birth night. Eyes shining red, I heard a scream unlike any ever, and now another assailant ran at me, more shots, one hitting the man who had screamed. I ended his misery with a claw to the neck, and looking down I saw it was Titan.

  Never a chance to undo this. Let them come. If on
e thinks he might kill me, let him be a hero.

  Men charged and fired, hitting each other too often with unsteady shots. Those who made it close to me lost their lives.

  Terrible-tasting men, I spat out their flesh. After a minute of battle, those who fancied themselves valorous discovered how much they valued their lives. They retreated to watch from the edges of the clearing.

  And then Dade, with torch in one hand and book in the other, strode toward where I sighed, a breathless, bloodied monster.

  Speaking to me and all those who might retell his words, Dade raised his voice: “O cursed and infernal beast, I brought you to life, I control thee. I am your lord and master, friend and devotee of all that is good. Thy murderous tendencies know no future in this country. Begone! Begone! Accursed beast! Satan’s spawn if not Satan himself! Begone one hundred years, and only return helpless and humbled! Begone, one hundred years gone! Oh beast of Leeds, hear me and begone!”

  I would grant all those living time to die in peace, my tale ascending into legend as I hid along the barrier islands, perfecting speech and taking time from trying to connect with men unready to confront my form.

  I ran faster than any beast on earth, wings searing, unable to carry me into air.

  “Begone, begone,” said Dade, and I was gone.

  Widow of the Island

  F THROUGH POWERFUL SPYGLASSES those aboard tall-ships and ketches saw me off the coast of the long and narrow barrier island, they would attribute the sight to sea sickness, lens distortion, shimmering oases. One hundred fifty years to improve speech, heal heart and head, make peace if not with men then at least with myself. I flew and fished, made friends with a special gull. I dug a pit in the sand and covered it with a roof of driftwood protected with clamshells. There I practiced my speech, tried out the words I heard in my head, said each as often as I could to my fearless bewinged friend. I only say this gull was special because all others kept their distance. This one seemed fearless, perhaps because its brains were rattled from screwing its head to one side as though to better comprehend my speech. My happiest moments from that era were when the gull cackled, as though it sensed my language had improved, when my words rolled and crashed and withdrew into others, inspired by the sea. This gull offered more companionship than I deserved in exile. I needed time to strengthen my resolve to ensure that my eloquence one day calmed those as yet unborn. Five generations would advance humanity until all children were born with innate respect for beings like me, surely.