Daddy and Martin were still on the porch. Martin was upset. “Now everybody’s going to think you’re crazy, too.”
“Maybe,” Daddy said.
“Do you have to do this?”
Daddy looked at Martin. “No.”
“Then why?” Martin was almost crying.
Daddy looked up thoughtfully and then his eyes found me. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “How’s the dog?”
“Tied up.”
“Shame you’ve got to keep him tied, but Mr. Simpson will shoot him.” Daddy groaned and stood. He placed his fist in the small of his back and stretched. “Hot, hot, hot,” he said and walked into the house.
The next morning I leave Jincy to bathe Renoir and I walk to the lake. So, I’m sitting on a rock and I’m watching this eagle gliding on flat wings and Beckwith shows up.
“What are you looking at?” the zoologist asks.
I point up at the bird.
“Oh, Haliaeetus leucocephalus,” he says, sitting beside me.
“Bald eagle.”
“Pretty amazing, eh?”
I look at him and hoist up my eyebrows.
“The flight,” he says.
I nod.
“You know, birds don’t just flap their wings up and down.”
“No?”
“No. High-speed photography shows that they move their wings in figure eights. So, they push themselves through the air very much as a propeller pushes a boat through water.” He pulls a chocolate bar from his daypack and offers me some.
I shake my head.
“Yeah, birds are amazing.” He takes another bite of chocolate and then points across the lake. “Odocoileus hemionus.”
“Deer,” I says under my breath.
“They’re hot, too.”
“Hmmmm?”
“Birds, they’re hot. They’ve got high body temperatures—one hundred and five degrees sometimes. Hot, just like any engine powerful enough to fly.” What he’s saying is fascinating. “They’ve got very flexible bodies.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“More vertebrae than any other animal.”
“You don’t say.”
“More than giraffes, even.”
“Ain’t that something.” There’s a pause. “I wish I could fly.”
He chuckles. “Wishes, wishes.”
“I think I will.”
Beckwith laughs harder and he stands up. “I like you,” he says and starts away. “I’ll see you later.”
I don’t say anything and I look up and there’s an osprey slowly beating his wings across the lake.
I walk back to the cabin a different way and I get a little lost until I come out onto the highway. There’s a car parked on the road and two fellas with binoculars are scanning the area.
“Hello there,” says one of the men.
“Hey.”
“Have you seen a little girl?”
“A little girl?”
“Yes, a runaway.”
“No.” I walk on past them.
“Keep your eyes open, all right?”
I turn back to face them and nod. I walk on back to the cabin.
When Daddy wasn’t in his office he was with Ma, running with her, helping her train. Martin was annoyed; he didn’t understand. I thought I understood, but I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that Ma seemed closer to Daddy. She even seemed less abusive to Martin. Every morning and every night Daddy and Ma went running.
Chapter 20
I decide that flying is a distinct possibility and that being a bird is well worth my while. I’ve pretty much given up on the saxophone—it hurts Jincy’s ears and starts Renoir in a screaming fit. One day I’m sitting in front of the cabin and I’m watching the gray jays.
“What are you thinking about?” Jincy asks, sitting down beside me. Renoir is munching hay.
“Flying,” I says. “I’m gonna fly.”
“Where to?”
“I just want to fly.”
Jincy is silent for a spell. “You mean fly in an airplane, right?”
“No,” I tell her. “I mean fly like a bird.”
“How?” Her eyes are wide and curious.
“I figure I’ll make some wings and, in general, act like a bird.”
“Like how?”
“I plan to raise my body temperature and loosen up my neck and eat worms.”
Jincy frowns. “Eat worms?”
“Yeah.” I pause. “I figure I’ll make wings and step off Willet Rock.”
“Willet Rock?”
“Yeah, you can see it from this side of the lake, way up. I guess it’s about two thousand feet. You’ve got to go around the mountain to get to it because it’s on the steep face.”
“Two thousand feet?” Jincy looks over at the peak of the nearby mountain. “I don’t think you should try it.”
I don’t say anything and then I hear a car coming. “Quick,” I bark, “get Renoir into the house.” I run into the cabin and lower the wall and Jincy steps inside with the elephant. I pull up the wall and kick his hay around and this pickup pulls up with two fellas.
“Howdy,” says the driver. Both men are out of the truck. They’re rangers.
“Hey,” I greet them. “What can I do for you?”
“This is going to sound crazy,” says the one who was driving, looking at his partner and smiling, “but we’re up here looking for an elephant.”
“An elephant?” I question.
“Yeah,” says the second man, chuckling. “Some folks claim they seen an elephant up here.”
“You mean an elephant with a trunk, like in a circus and all?”
The driver laughs. “Yeah.”
And I laugh loud and then Renoir gives a blast from his snout.
“What was that?” asks the driver.
“Stereo,” I tell him. Then I yell back at the cabin, “You want to turn that down in there?!”
The two men look at each other and the driver shrugs his shoulders. “Well, if you see anything …,” the driver says and stops. “Probably just a moose way off track. It ain’t enough that everybody’s running around seeing Bigfoot, we got to have an elephant.” They get back into their truck. “Sorry to bother you.”
“No bother,” I tell him and they leave and I go back into the cabin to check on Renoir.
That night I come back from my walk and Renoir ain’t outside and when I step into the cabin he ain’t there. Jincy’s in the cabin, sitting at the table, drawing pictures of Renoir.
“Where’s Renoir?” I ask.
“Outside,” she says without looking up.
“No, he’s not.”
“Sure he is,” she says, standing and walking to the window. She looks outside and then at me. “He was out there.”
We go outside with a couple of lanterns and we can see Renoir’s tracks. They’re real deep because the dirt drive is still wet from the last rain. We follow them for about three miles and I get real nervous because it looks like Renoir has gone into town. We don’t go back to get the truck as we’re already halfway to Parkdale.
Jincy is very upset, almost crying. “I hope Rennie doesn’t get shot.”
We walk on through the darkness, swinging our lanterns and whistling for Renoir. Finally we find him behind a split-level and he’s in a duck pond.
“Are you sure it’s Rennie?”
I call him and Jincy calls him, but he won’t come. I end up stepping into the water and leading him out by one of his ears. Then we’re walking through backyards and dogs are barking at us and an occasional light snaps on. Jincy is riding on top of Renoir and we make our way back to the road. A car comes up behind us and Jincy is becoming hysterical. It turns out to be Beckwith.
Beckwith stops his car and he walks around to me and he looks at Renoir. “Loxodonta africana,” he says. He looks at me. “You’ve got a Loxodonta africana.”
“Elephant.”
“What are you doing with a Loxodonta africana?”
But I’m
just walking away and leading Renoir home, muttering, “Elephant.”
Beckwith gets into his car and drives away and he’s at the cabin waiting when we arrive. “Now, tell me what you’re doing with a Loxodonta africana.”
“He’s a pet,” I tell him.
Beckwith walks around the elephant, examining him closely. “He’s a fine one.”
Jincy and I are paying Beckwith little attention and I walk into the house and lower the wall while Jincy waits with Renoir.
“You keep him inside?” Beckwith asks as Jincy walks the animal over the wall.
Beckwith is standing outside and I say goodnight and pull up the wall.
The next night, I stepped out into the backyard and found Django gone. He had been untied. I ran up to my room and yelled at Martin, “Why did you untie the dog?!”
“I didn’t.”
I believed him and I ran back outside. “Djanjo!” I called. “Django!”
Then Martin stepped outside. “You’d better find him before bang! bang!” He held his hands up like he was holding a rifle.
“Django!” I walked next door into Mr. Simpson’s yard. The dog wasn’t there. At least he wasn’t in Mr. Simpson’s garden. He wasn’t to be found about the neighborhood. Finally I was at the pond and Django was in it. “Come here,” I called. But the dog wouldn’t come. I sat on the grass for a time while Django swam around. The moon was full, offering some light. Then I stepped into the pond after the dog. The water was almost to my chest. I pulled the dog out. I don’t know what came over me, but I took a shortcut through Mr. Simpson’s backyard. Mr. Simpson’s kitchen light came on and I fell to the ground. I held Django’s mouth closed. Someone stepped up to the screen door and then moved away. The light went off and I ran the rest of the way. I tied Django up and walked into the house.
“You’re wet,” Daddy said, standing in the kitchen with a glass of iced tea in his hand.
“I had to go into the pond for Django.”
He sipped his tea and pulled back the curtain to look into the yard. “Your mother’s coming right along.” He sipped his tea. “She might just do it.” He looked at me. “Why don’t you get cleaned up?”
“Daddy, why are you running with Ma?”
“Let’s say I don’t want her to run alone.”
The next morning Jincy and Renoir are behind me and we’re walking through the woods. The sun is up and bright.
“Shake that salty bacon,” Jincy says.
And I look back. “What are you saying?”
“I said, shake that salty bacon.” And she points at my backside.
I get real embarrassed and stop. “You walk in front of me.”
“Why? I like watching it.”
“Just go on.”
Jincy walks on in front of me and I’m watching the sky and thinking about flying.
“You still gonna fly?” Jincy asks without looking back.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think you should. I don’t want you to.”
I don’t say anything.
“Why?”
“I want to be free,” I tell her.
“Free?”
“Uh-huh.”
We walk on in silence and when we get near the lake Jincy drops to her hands and knees and starts raking at the ground with her fingers.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Digging worms,” she says, not stopping.
“Why?”
Still digging: “For you to eat. You want to be free, don’t you?”
I stand over her for a minute and then I’m on my knees, helping her.
She hands me a worm. “Eat it.”
I take it and I tilt my head back and let it slide down my throat and it wiggles as it goes down. Jincy is smiling and crying at the same time. I pull her to me and hug her and she cries harder.
Naomi and I were sitting beneath the big tree in the old school yard. It was muggy and there were bad-looking storm clouds in the distance. Across the yard, sitting under a basketball goal, was Virgil Wallace. Virgil was pulling on himself.
“Look at that waterhead over there.” Naomi pointed at Virgil. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s-” I didn’t know if I should tell her.
“What?”
“He’s pulling on himself.” She had a questioning expression. “You know.” I moved my hand up and down over my middle.
She giggled. Then she looked up into the tree. “I saw your mother and father last night.”
I didn’t say anything.
“They were running. Is your daddy going crazy, too?”
“No,” I snapped. I knew what question was coming. “He’s just trying to help Ma.”
“What’s all the running for?”
“My mother wants to run around Fayetteville.”
Naomi laughed.
“It’s not funny!” I shouted. “Why are you laughing? Your daddy uses caskets over and over again and cuts off dead people’s hair.”
She stopped laughing. “He does not.”
“He does. I found dirt on his caskets.”
Naomi was silent. She looked down at her knees. “He does not,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at me. “Do you like me?”
“I told you, yes.”
“I like you, too.” And she reached for my hand and grabbed my little finger and bent it back. It hurt. “Take it back,” she said, applying pressure. “Say it isn’t so. Say my daddy doesn’t do that.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. I was in a great deal of pain. “He doesn’t use caskets over.”
“Or cut off dead people’s hair?”
“Or cut off dead people’s hair.”
She gave my finger one last twist and I fell over, my head landing in her lap. I was looking up at her. She lowered her head and placed her lips against mine. My eyes were wide open and I could see her closed eyes and her smooth skin. Her tongue was darting in and out of my mouth. I didn’t kiss back—I didn’t know how—but I didn’t resist. Then a shadow fell over my face. I thought it might be clouds, but there was something odd. So, I pushed Naomi’s face away and I looked up and saw Virgil Wallace. He was standing over us, his penis in his hand. Naomi screamed and she fell back against the tree when she tried to get up. I got up and pulled her into standing. We ran.
Even with the three baths a day that Renoir gets from Jincy, the cabin smells. Renoir ain’t house-trained and I decide to go into town for some newspapers. There are several newspaper-vending machines in Parkdale and I start off at one end of town emptying all the papers into the truck. Then at the fourth machine I put my dime in and I look beside me and there’s skinny Sheriff Prager. I open the machine and pull out one paper and smile at him.
“Howdy,” he says.
“Hey.”
“Nice day.” He’s looking up at the sunny sky.
“Uh-huh.”
“How’re things?” He pushes his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Just fine, just fine.”
“Sure is nice weather.”
“Sure is.”
“I know I asked you before, but have you seen a little girl?”
“No.”
“Tell me, what do you do with yourself up there?”
“I walk and relax and pretty soon I’m going to fly off Willet Rock.”
He’s silent for a second and then he laughs and slaps my back. “You’re all right,” he says and starts away and then he stops. “You seen anything like an elephant up there?”
“Elephant?”
“Never mind.” He pauses. “Fly off Willet Rock”-he laughs—“that’s rich.” He walks away.
I put another dime in the machine and take the rest of the papers.
Chapter 21
So, I’m putting newspaper on the floor on Renoir’s side of the cabin and Jincy is helping me. I notice a story on an inside page. The headline reads: MANAGER DIES ON RURAL ROAD. The story says that Lou Tyler died
after being hit by a car and there’s a quote from the driver of the car that hit him: “I didn’t see him until it was too late. I came around the curve and there he was, holding that dog in his arms.” I fall from my knees to my butt and sit silently.
“What’s wrong?” Jincy asks.
“Nothing.”
Jincy looks at the paper in front of me. “Lou Tyler,” she says. “Ain’t that the guy who—”
I nod.
“He was weird.”
I’m still silent.
“Are you going to leave here?” she asks.
I look at her. “Did your mother hate you?”
“Why?”
“Just wondering.”
Jincy stands and starts putting wood into the stove and she’s looking back at me through her yellow hair. “I love you.”
And there’s this long silence and I’m looking at her and then I start spreading the papers again. She cooks lunch. Bacon and eggs.
Ma tried to run around the town again. This time she made it about halfway. Daddy was with her and I don’t think he could have run much farther either. I was behind them, riding my bicycle. They just stopped. Ma bent over and rested her hands on her knees. Daddy’s hands were on his hips and he was breathing hard. Then McCoy drove by, out of the blue. So much for the morning.
Daddy was annoyed greatly by the morning’s failure. He said that more practice was needed. Instead of coffee, he had iced tea at breakfast and then he went to his office. Martin left the table and it was just Ma and me.
“Almost,” I said. Bud started playing the piano in the other room.
Ma nodded. “You’re a good boy, Craigie.” She looked past me, through the screen door. “Like your daddy.”
I liked that she had said that. “I love you, Ma.”
She seemed not to hear me and then she looked at me and tilted her head. She smiled. “Love,” she said. She laughed.
I didn’t know what to make of her. It didn’t seem as though she was laughing at me. I giggled nervously.
Ma stopped and stared at me. “What are you laughing at?”
I didn’t know what to say. I became very frightened. I pushed against the back of my chair.
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