Zavion remembered tracing the outline of the bird when Mama set it down in the morning to have her cup of coffee. He remembered wondering, each time, if the next time the bird would be gone. If it would ever finally fly away.
Zavion remembered that blue mug, and a sad blue thing crept through the open window in his brain.
It crouched in a corner there.
Then it stretched its body out flat.
—
Zavion was four.
He had been outside, pulling mint out of the tiny garden Mama kept behind their house. Her family had kept enormous gardens at their house in North Carolina, at the base of Grandmother Mountain, and Mama had carried a garbage bag filled with dirt when she moved. A little bit of North Carolina in New Orleans. Just enough dirt for a tiny garden.
She grew tomatoes, cucumbers, peas, and mint.
Lots of mint.
That morning she had sent Zavion out to pick some for a big pitcher of iced tea she was making.
Mint, ginger, and tea.
Her specialty.
“My special tea,” she would say. And then she would laugh.
That low, rumbly laugh like a cat purring.
Zavion picked two big handfuls of mint and was running back into the kitchen. He was so excited he had forgotten to take off his garden boots—tall, yellow rubber boots—just inside the front door, which was a rule of Mama’s. She liked a clean floor, liked to walk in the house barefoot, and didn’t want to step in dirt or mud or worse.
“New Orleans is dirtier than North Carolina,” she always said.
“New Orleans just has more to offer,” Papa always said.
“True words,” she always said back.
Zavion barreled into the kitchen, his fists full of mint. The mud on the bottom of his boots was slippery. He skidded when he hit the linoleum floor. Hands full, he careened into Mama, who was standing at the kitchen counter, mug in one hand, a piece of ginger in the other.
Zavion banged into Mama with such force that his fists popped open and the mint scattered onto the floor. But that was not the worst part.
Mama’s mug, the mug with the bird that was getting ready to take flight, the one Mama had brought with her from North Carolina, flew into the air—
—like Zavion always thought the bird might—
—and cracked on the muddy linoleum floor.
Shards of blue clay skittered everywhere.
And Zavion felt his own body crack into a million pieces.
He had broken Mama’s rule.
He had broken Mama’s mug.
He began to cry.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” he wailed.
Mama knelt down on the floor and took his face in her hands.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Her bangles sounded like chimes in Zavion’s ears.
Then she pulled him into a big, warm hug.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay. You will always be okay.”
And then she said what she would say many more times.
“You were you, you are still you, and I love you all the same.”
She said it until she died.
And then Zavion never heard it again.
Instead, he shut the window, turned the lock, and vowed never to make a mistake or break a rule again.
—
Zavion looked at the man whose hand was still on his shoulder. He looked at the boy whose hand was still on his other shoulder. He looked at the bird, who was sitting on the arm of the boy, balanced like he was on a tighrope between them.
He didn’t know them.
But, at the same time, he did.
He asked them, “Do you live near a mountain?” A question that he was certain he knew the answer to.
The boy said, “Yes.”
And then Zavion said, “I need to go to it.”
chapter 48
HENRY
Henry sat back down on the ground.
He wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened, but he knew that in the flashes of lightning that illuminated the dark, he had seen pieces of himself.
He also knew that he had helped this boy.
Or maybe, in a way, he had saved him.
Peregrine falcon style.
—
A bird landed on the sidewalk in front of Henry. A pigeon. It strutted back and forth a few times, pecking at one piece of garbage and then another, until it stopped in front of a soggy, crushed cardboard box. It stuck its head inside and pulled out a piece of something, maybe a cracker or an orange peel.
—
The boy didn’t look so good. His eyes were too wide and his hands were shaking in his lap.
He didn’t feel safe. He had said so.
And he wanted to climb Mount Mansfield.
Why?
Henry had been amazed that the boy knew he and Jake lived near a mountain until the boy pointed to his football jersey. MOUNT MANSFIELD JUNIOR FOOTBALL, UNDERHILL, VERMONT was written across his chest. Above a picture of the stupid mountain. How had he not realized that he had carried Mansfield all the way to New Orleans?
Jeezum Crow!
Henry didn’t have the heart to tell the boy just how dangerous the mountain was.
Roots sticking up across the trail.
Sharp branches hanging too low.
Rock ledges that dropped onto hard ground.
Henry wasn’t ready to go back home.
—
Tiger hopped off Henry’s arm to join the pigeon. He stuck his head in the box and grabbed a banana peel. He pulled tiny strings of pale yellow fruit off the inside of the peel. The pigeon took one from him and ate it.
Henry watched them for a moment, these two birds who had never seen each other before, sharing a strange sort of meal.
—
Jake, who had been silently holding the boy’s shoulder all this time, cleared his throat.
“We should get you home,” he said to the boy.
“I need to go to Vermont,” said the boy, getting on to his knees. “Please—”
Henry could see that Jake was contemplating the boy’s request. Or beg. It was more like a beg.
Jake stood up. He put his hand over his mouth like he was trying to gather his words into his hand.
“First”—he paused—“we have to get you home. Where is home?”
Henry stood up too. He clicked his tongue and Tiger flew to his arm.
This bird was smart.
“Five six one one Arts Street. It’s in Gentilly. By Pontchartrain Park.” The boy didn’t stand up. Instead, he opened his left hand, which had been closed tight around something.
The two roof shingles.
“This is home,” he said. “This is all that’s left of it.”
—
Henry stared at what was left of Zavion’s house and all he saw was Mount Mansfield. The muscles in his legs twitched. His nostrils flared, ready to pull in extra oxygen. He knew that mountain better than anything else in the whole world.
What if he could hold Mount Mansfield in his hand?
Henry instinctively wrapped both arms around himself, which startled Tiger, who flapped his wings fast and flew to the boy. He settled himself on his lap and pecked at a shingle.
“He likes your house,” Henry said weakly.
The boy smiled.
And as Henry stood under the slowly brightening New Orleans sky, dragging its foul-smelling air into his lungs, he knew he wanted to take this boy to Mount Mansfield.
—
Luna came outside the market to bring them a grocery bag filled with coffee, juice and a bottle of wine. She said good-bye to Henry, Jake, and the boy, who had told them his name was Zavion.
“It’s Basque,” Zavion said. “It means ‘bright, new house.’ ”
Henry had smiled then.
“Mine is German,” he said. “It means ‘ruler of the house.’ ”
“Not that he’s bossy,” Jake said.
&n
bsp; —
They walked back to the Salvation Army, which smelled like burnt toast.
“What happened here?” said Henry.
“I burnt toast,” said Cora.
When Jake told her they were taking Zavion back to Baton Rouge, she clapped her hands and told them that her dear friend Pierre ran the Salvation Army there.
“Can you bring a load of clothes to him?” she asked. “It will save him a trip.”
“Yes!” Henry said so enthusiastically that Tiger had dropped a feather, madly flapping his wings. Initially, Henry didn’t like the idea of taking Zavion to Baton Rouge. He wasn’t finished searching New Orleans for his marble. He hadn’t even really started. But if deliveries went to Baton Rouge too, he was open to it.
“Your house…,” began Cora. She put her hand on Zavion’s shoulder. “How bad was the damage? Did you lose a lot of things?” Cora’s hand fluttered from Zavion to her mouth. “Oh my goodness, am I asking too many questions? I am, aren’t I? I’m sticking my foot in it, aren’t I? I’m—”
“It’s gone,” interrupted Zavion. “My house is gone.”
“Oh.” Cora breathed in sharply. “I’m so sorry. Just like my neighbor Enzo.”
“Enzo?” Henry saw Zavion’s face brighten.
“Yes.”
“Does he have a daughter named Osprey?”
“Yes!”
“I’m staying with him! And Osprey. And his brothers—”
“The singers!” Cora clapped her hands. “Well, look at that! Just look at what I stuck my foot into this time!” She tapped her toes on the ground and spun in a circle. “I have something else for you to take to Baton Rouge!”
—
“How did you get to New Orleans?” Henry asked Zavion. They were loading Cora’s cake into the truck.
“I stowed away in a bird rescue van,” said Zavion.
“So cool,” Henry said.
“Wayne would have done that,” said Jake.
Henry agreed.
chapter 49
ZAVION
Everyone was there. Papa, Isaac, Enzo, Tavius, Skeet, and Osprey. Ms. Cyn, her knitting needles flying. Papa rushed to grab Zavion as soon as his feet hit the ground. He gave him a tight hug and then a good shake.
“You don’t do that. You don’t do that to me, do you understand?” he said sharply.
“But—” started Zavion.
“Never. Never again.”
“But I wasn’t lost—I knew where I was—”
“You knew where you were? What good did that do me?”
“I’m sure you were so worried.” Jake had made his way around to the other side of the truck.
Papa turned to Jake and shot him a look that made Zavion wince. “Thank you for bringing Zavion home. But you don’t have a clue what I was feeling—”
“Don’t have a clue!” said Tiger.
“Shhhhh,” said Henry. He stuck the bird’s cage behind his legs.
“Don’t have a clue, ya bonehead!”
“Tiger,” Henry hissed.
Osprey laughed. She squirmed out of Enzo’s arms and ran to Henry, dragging Green behind her.
“Nice dog,” Henry said. “Looks like he runs fast.”
“Thank you,” she said, grinning. “His name is Green.” She pointed behind Henry. “Nice bird.”
“Thanks,” said Henry. “His name is Tiger. And I’m Henry.”
“I’m Osprey.”
“Falcon?”
“No, Osprey.”
“Eagle?”
“No, Osprey!”
“Owl?” Henry was laughing now.
“No! No!” Osprey poked Henry in the knee and giggled.
Zavion was amazed. In a matter of seconds, Henry and Osprey had become fast friends.
“If you think you’re going on any other damn adventure, Zavion, dump that idea out of your head right now,” said Papa. “You’re coming with me to Gabe’s and I’m attaching you to my wrist with Osprey’s leash all the way there. Do you understand me?”
“Papa—” Zavion forced himself to look into his eyes. “Papa—” His voice came out a whisper. He opened his palms. The two roof shingles, chipped and gray, sat in his hands. “This is what’s left of our house,” he managed to say.
“Sweet Jesus—” Papa’s eyes filled with tears.
“Two more canvases for you to paint,” said Zavion.
Papa pulled him close one more time.
chapter 50
HENRY
“Let’s go inside,” said Ms. Cyn. She circled her arms around Tavius and Skeet like she was herding sheep. “Time to eat, don’t you think?”
“For someone who hates the kitchen, you sure do like what’s inside it,” said Tavius.
“Hush,” said Ms. Cyn. “Get on in—” She ushered them through the door.
Henry hung back and watched Zavion’s father hug him hard. He couldn’t hear what he said, but he saw him whisper something into Zavion’s ear.
I can’t lose you. That was what Henry imagined he was saying. I can’t lose you.
Henry remembered Jake saying that to him only a few short hours before.
chapter 51
ZAVION
“If there’s cake, there’s a party!” said Enzo.
“Thank you, Cora!” said Tavius.
“Yes, thank you kindly!” said Skeet.
“And coffee and wine!” said Enzo.
“And juice!” piped in Osprey.
“Thank you, Luna!” said Tavius.
“Yes, thank you kindly!” said Skeet.
“Mind your manners!” squawked Tiger.
Ms. Cyn poked her head into the kitchen. She made the party complete. Everyone from the Baton Rouge house was here and accounted for. Even Pierre had come to join them, plus Henry and Jake from Vermont. Vermont! Here! Zavion couldn’t quite believe his luck.
Or maybe it wasn’t luck. Zavion was too tired to think. He was just relieved and amazed and overwhelmed by the fact that they were here.
“Hope we aren’t keeping you awake,” said Jake to Ms. Cyn. “I know it’s late.”
“It was this bird,” said Ms. Cyn. “When he was screaming out that grocery list: milk, cheese, butter, juice, sausage, eggs—”
“Sorry,” said Henry.
“Ms. Cyn thought she was having a bad broccoli dream,” said Enzo.
“A noodle night terror,” said Tavius.
“A nut butter nightmare,” said Skeet.
“Very funny, you clowns,” said Ms. Cyn as she plunked herself down on a chair. “I wasn’t asleep. Do you think I would miss a party? Even one in the kitchen? I was just busy.” That was true, her scarf looked like it was a mile long. “I wouldn’t miss this”—she gestured with her hand around the room—“for anything.”
“Tiger is funny,” said Osprey.
“But Ms. Cyn is funnier,” said Skeet.
“Hey, y’all,” said Ms. Cyn. “Ribbing doesn’t officially begin until the sun rises, okay?”
“Okay,” said Enzo.
“Maybe,” said Tavius.
Skeet paused. “Nah,” he said.
Zavion took a bite of Cora’s cake. It was the best thing he had ever tasted. Better than the sandwiches he made and lined up in the refrigerator, better than the bread he had just learned to knead and bake, and maybe just as good as Mama’s ginger mint iced tea.
Across the kitchen table, Osprey scooped some cake into her hand and held it out for Tiger, who reached his beak down to snatch it up. “Crow’s dead,” said Osprey, “but you’re not dead, Tiger. I like you.”
“He likes you too, Osprey,” said Henry. “You wanna hold him?” Osprey nodded. “Do you think Green will mind?”
Osprey laughed. She pulled her leash onto the table, and attached to its clip was a small spoon. “This is Silver, not Green.” She leaned in toward Henry. “And don’t you know, Henry? Silver is only pretend.”
Henry clicked softly and pointed to the table. Tiger hopped off his shoulder and l
anded next to Silver. Osprey imitated Henry’s clicking sound.
“That’s right,” Henry said. “Now hold out your arm.” Tiger hopped onto Osprey’s wrist.
“Hi, Tiger,” she said.
“Hello,” he said. Then he leaned over and looked at himself in the silver spoon. “What a beaut!” he said. “What a beaut! Shiny!”
All of a sudden, Enzo hopped up. “Shiny! That reminds me of the woman at the convention center.”
“The singing woman?” said Tavius.
“Yeah, remember her? Right before we left?” said Enzo. “Remember what she sang?”
“ ‘This Little Light of Mine,’ ” said Tavius. “She was incredible—”
“She walked around the center belting that song at the top of her lungs, and people began to follow her, singing along,” said Enzo. “By the time we joined in, we couldn’t even see the woman—”
“There was such a long line,” said Tavius.
“This little light of mine,” sang Enzo, “I’m gonna let it shine—”
Tavius joined in.
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine—”
Skeet began to sing too.
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.”
Osprey got up too, and marched around the room.
“Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.”
Tavius reached his hand out to Pierre, who took it and began to sing too. Ms. Cyn, Papa, and Jake joined in. Even Tiger flew around the room, singing “shine” in all the right places.
—
As the song filled the kitchen, Zavion had a thought.
He had made it through a thunderstorm. It hadn’t been pretty. But he had made it through to the other side.
That was something.
chapter 52
HENRY
“This little light of mine,
I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine,
I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine,
Let it shine,
Let it shine.”
The singing was the most beautiful thing Henry had ever heard. Layers of voices, perfectly stacked, but all of them different. Like the wind, the sparrows, and the waterfall on the mountain making music at the same time.
Another Kind of Hurricane Page 13