First Came the Owl

by Judith Benét Richardson

  CRACK! Nita cracked an egg on the side of the bowl. It looked fine. What was a rotten egg? she wondered. Her mind went back to the race with Brenda.

  “What’s a rotten egg like?” she asked her father.

  “Sulfur.” He bent down and sniffed the bowl. “But those eggs aren’t rotten. They’d smell like sulfur. Like the fires of hell.”

  Nita laughed. Her father had fancy ways of saying things. Boy, sulfur must be awful. But she was tired of eggs—an egg for lunch, and now, eggs for dinner. No one was doing the shopping, that’s why.

  Dad smiled at Nita, and his blue eyes creased around the edges. It always surprised Nita that she could have such a blue-eyed dad. He had explained to her about genes and blue eyes, how if one parent had brown eyes and no gene for blue eyes that the children would always have brown eyes. But it wasn’t only that. Nita looked like her mother, dark eyes, black hair, brown skin. Her father was pale skinned and blue eyed and looked like what Nita thought of as American. She didn’t think she looked half American, though Dad said she had inherited his stubborn look and his love of potato chips.

  Now she beat the eggs with a fork. “I’m going to cook them. You could get Mom.”

  Nita heard him in the other room, coaxing Mom. She put some bean sprouts and green onions into the egg mixture and dropped little egg pancakes into the sizzling pan. The rice was done.

  When Mom came to the table she was quiet. She looks so mysterious, thought Nita. What is she thinking? Her smooth brown face didn’t give away her thoughts. Mom was sealed off like someone in a space capsule going to the moon. Earth to Mom, thought Nita. Talk to me. Why won’t she talk to me? Nita felt so lonely right there next to her mother with Silence sitting like a fourth person at the table.

  She put her mother’s plate down in front of her.

  Dad tried to keep the conversation going, but it was hard to talk to Silence. So he turned to Nita.

  “How was school?”

  “It was … school-like. Oh, and there’s going to be a play—Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

  Mom didn’t pick up her fork. Dad cut a little bite and tried to put the fork in her hand. Nita knew he hated to feed Mom because he felt she wouldn’t like being treated like a baby. Tonight Mom just shook her head.

  Nita tried again. “I saw something on my way to school—I think it was a big bird, and it wasn’t a seagull.”

  No one seemed to be listening. Nita felt a burst of anger in her chest, but she knew that wasn’t fair. Dad had explained to her about depression. She can’t help it, he said. But it would be so easy to just pick up that fork and eat! Nita knew Dad would be unhappy if she said that, so she stuffed her mouth with egg and finished her supper quickly.

  Then she took the phone into her room.

  “Hello, is Anne there?” She hoped Dad wasn’t listening. He thought she should say, “Hello, this is Nita. May I please speak to Anne?” But no one said all that, especially when it was Anne’s sister Petrova who answered. Nita was sure Petrova didn’t like her. She was so abrupt.

  “Hold on,” said Petrova, and dropped the phone, or at least that’s how it sounded.

  “Listen, I can’t talk long,” said Anne. “My parents are ‘helping’ me with my math.” Anne’s parents and her sister were all very good at math, and they couldn’t believe that Anne wasn’t. So they “helped” her, it seemed like for hours, when they weren’t too busy. Fortunately, that wasn’t very often.

  Dad poked his head around the door, looking serious. “Nita, I need to use the phone,” he said. “Will you go sit with Mom? In fact, is that Anne? Ask her if I can talk to her mother, will you?”

  All these questions. Silently, Nita handed him the phone and let him ask for Anne’s mother. Then he gestured at Nita, to shoo her out the door, and reluctantly, she went. It was her room, after all, and what were they going to talk about anyway? Why did he want to talk to Mrs. S.? Now Nita was the one with all the questions. As she dawdled out of the room, she heard him say, “I’m going to ask you a big favor, Marian.”

  Mom was back on her bed. She lay on her side facing the wood-paneled wall and pick, picked at the varnish. Long shreds of wood were coming off, and as Nita looked closer, she saw there was blood on the tips of her mother’s fingers. Nita took her mother’s hand. There was a big splinter in one finger. Her mother rolled onto her back and her dark eyes looked past Nita to the window.

  Carefully, Nita laid down the hand and whispered, “I’ll be right back. I’ll fix it.” She hurried into the kitchen and got the splinter needle that was stuck in the bulletin board by the phone. She lit the stove and sterilized the tip of the needle in the flame. Then she went back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Gently, Nita picked up her mother’s hand again. It was practically no bigger than Nita’s own hand, and soft. Nita picked at the splinter. She was afraid it might hurt, but Mom didn’t seem to even feel it. There! The splinter eased out. It was out. But a big drop of blood came out after it, and dropped on the bedspread.

  Tears rushed to Nita’s eyes. “Mom!” she burst out. “I’m sorry!” She tried to hug her mother. To do this she had to kneel on the floor and squeeze Mom’s shoulders. Mom was so thin. She didn’t answer Nita, but she looked at the spot of blood on the white bedspread.

  Mom had slipped away into another world, like the fairy-tale world where princesses slept for a hundred years or queens wished for daughters as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony. She was far away and Nita couldn’t think of any way to get to her there.

  Nita rested her forehead on the bedspread and her tears dripped onto Mom’s silky black hair.

  “Nita,” said Dad from the doorway. “Nita, come in here for a minute.”

  Nita left the still figure on the bed and followed Dad into the living room. When he put his arm around her, she leaned against him and wiped her eyes on his shirt.

  “I’m going to take her to the hospital,” he said. “Anne’s mother says you can stay with them tonight. Okay?”

  “It’s—” Nita was going to say, not okay. She didn’t like to stay overnight at other people’s houses, even Anne’s. But Dad looked so worried that she heard herself say, “Okay. Can they … can the hospital get her to feel better?”

  “They have some different medication, they have things they can try.”

  “But why won’t she talk?”

  “She can’t,” said Dad.

  “Is there something the matter with her throat?” Nita asked.

  “No.”

  “Then she can talk.”

  “She can’t.” Dad spread his hands out by his sides, as if he didn’t know what to do. “Nita, I know you’re upset. But remember, Mom’s had a hard life, and I think her trip reminded her of some sad things.”

  Nita did remember one of Mom’s stories. A story told long ago, in whispers, of a long escape through the trees, a dark night, and a hunt. Soldiers hunting her mother’s family, who ran and ran through the jungle.

  But now, Mom wouldn’t even tell stories. She was like a clock not working—running down, ticking slower and slower, and finally not working. As if the whole world could just stop. Somehow, Nita felt if Mom would say one word, only one word, the world wouldn’t stop. But Mom couldn’t.

  “Pack some stuff,” Dad said. “Marian is coming to get you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He’s not looking at me, thought Nita. All he thinks about is her, her, her. Or maybe … he’s afraid, too? That was the worst thought of all.

  Dad gave her another hug, but she could hardly hug him back. Headlights swept the lawn in front of the lighthouse. “Here they are. Get your toothbrush.”

  Nita hurried into her bedroom and threw some stuff in her duffel bag. Pajamas. Her old stuffed cat. Her school bag and her special pen with a tiny Mayflower that sailed back and forth in a capsule of fluid. She put on her earmuffs.

  As she went to the front door, she looked back and saw Dad sitting on the edge of
Mom’s bed. He sat very still, and he didn’t turn his head to see Nita leave. She made her way down the path by the flashing lighthouse beam that made things look white and then dark, white and then dark.

  Anne gave Nita a scared look when she got into the warm car, but Anne’s mother just acted normal.

  “Get your skates,” said Mrs. S. “Our pond is perfect at the moment, and we’re going to go skating by moonlight.”

  “Tonight?” said Anne and Nita at the same moment.

  “Tonight.”

  Nita smiled thankfully at the back of Mrs. Stillwater’s head. She climbed out of the car, went up the slippery path again, and took her skates off the hook by the entryway. She took a last look at her parents through the little window beside the inside door. They hadn’t moved.

  In the car, Anne bounced on the seat. “Night skating!” she said.

  Four

  PONDS DIDN’T STAY frozen very long in Maushope’s Landing, and tonight there was a moon, but it was also a school night, and even the lively Stillwaters didn’t usually let you go out then.

  The car went over the hill to High Street. “I’ll be right back with some cocoa,” said Mrs. S. She went into the house.

  “I didn’t even know we were going,” said Anne. “I think she just thought of it to cheer you up.” They got Anne’s skates from the bench in her front hall and went back outside.

  The moon was out, riding across the sky behind tattered shreds of cloud. The white blanket of snow in the yard glittered in the moonlight.

  When the girls slid down to the pond in back of the house, they saw that the ice was perfect, glassy and smooth. The moon was so bright they could even see the leaves and twigs frozen under the black ice and the moon’s reflected light, as if the pond were a mirror.

  Nita sat on a log and laced up her skates, then stuffed her hands quickly back into her mittens. She stumbled out onto the ice. “I’ve forgotten how,” she called. She slipped and came down on her hands, but after she got up it began to get easier. She made it all around the edge of the pond and back to Anne, ducking under branches that stuck out over the ice.

  “Be my partner,” said Anne. They crossed their arms and skated together like performers.

  Mrs. Stillwater came down and put the thermos near their shoes by the log. Then she glided onto the ice. She was really good—she could skate backward and twirl.

  Around and around they went until Nita felt warm all over. The frozen pond and the moon were cold and beautiful, chilling and exciting at the same time.

  “You’ll see,” said Mrs. S., as she pushed Nita by the arms to help her learn to skate backward. “Your mother will get better. It’s as if your Mom has fallen through the ice, but she’ll be rescued in time, I really believe that. I know her doctor, she’s a good doctor.”

  Nita couldn’t answer. It was the first time anyone but Dad had ever talked to her about Mom. It felt embarrassing but good, good to be out of the lonely house by the lighthouse, where Mom and Dad kept getting quieter and quieter. The Stillwaters would never let someone they cared about slip away under the ice.

  “Look! You’re skating backward!” called Anne. It was true. Mrs. Stillwater had let go of Nita’s hands, and she was carving out long backward glides.

  “Oh, I can’t do it when I think about it,” said Nita, as her feet automatically started forward again. I wonder if Mom can skate, she thought, but there was probably never any ice in Thailand. Mom probably never had this wonderful flying feeling. Nita skated faster and faster, until she thought she might fly up into the air, right off the ice.

  “Cocoa,” called Mrs. S. Nita scraped to a stop by the log, breathless and almost dizzy. The hot cup warmed her hands. “You girls have to get to bed,” Anne’s mother went on.

  But Nita sipped her cocoa slowly. She wanted to stay out as long as possible. Out here, everything seemed simpler. The black branches of the trees in the moonlight and the icy pond had been the same every winter for ten thousand years, maybe. It made Nita feel better to think that, though she wasn’t sure why.

  “Do fish get frozen?” asked Anne.

  “No,” said Nita. She put down her cup and started to unlace her skates. “Dad goes ice fishing sometimes. He says fish slow way down and lie in the water at the bottom of the pond.”

  “Girls,” said Mrs. S. She picked up her skates and the thermos.

  “We’re coming,” they answered, and started up the slope. The house up above them had lights in the windows, and as they walked toward the warm, yellow glow, a blast of sound came from an attic window.

  “What’s that?” Nita slipped on the path, startled.

  “Petrova is playing her whale songs.” The weird moaning and clicking echoed out over the frozen woods.

  “Weird,” said Nita.

  “You mean unusual—that’s what Mom says. We don’t call people ‘weird,’ just ‘unusual.’ Listen! Now she’s playing her very unusual owl recordings. That’s why the window is open, so the owls can hear.”

  Screeches came from the window and Nita shivered. It was a creepy sound.

  It was warm in the house and Anne’s room had a chair that folded out into a bed for Nita. She put her stuffed cat under the covers and felt safer. When she was in bed, she could see the moon out the window and her skating feeling came back for a minute. She remembered the flying feeling and the world of black trees and ice that had been there, well, almost forever.

  Mr. Stillwater came to the door. “Hi, Nita,” he said. “If you need any help with your math, don’t hesitate to ask.” His mouth twitched in a little smile, as if he knew Anne complained about his “help.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stillwater,” said Nita.

  “Oh, call me Bill,” he said. “Good night, girls.” He shut the door.

  Nita sank back on her pillows. Bill? I don’t think I could call him that out loud, she thought. Screeches and moans sounded very faintly from the attic. Nita eyed the moon and wondered if her Mom was looking out the window of wherever she was, watching the moon, too.

  “Good night, Mom,” she whispered.

  Five

  THE NEXT DAY after school Nita headed out of town, down by the beach. She didn’t even look at her house; she was going to Amy Bradley’s to talk about the play.

  And she was going to stay overnight at Anne’s again. Dad said he was staying at the Coast Guard base because the next day he might have to go out on one of the boats. Why does he have to leave when Mom’s in the hospital? thought Nita. Even though he always goes to sea, now I do not want him to. Not, not, not.

  Even school wasn’t as safe as usual, because Mrs. Sommers kept asking her about that report. She still didn’t know what to write about.

  Nita kicked a couple of stones along the edge of the beach, and kept her head down so she wouldn’t see the lighthouse. Icy little waves lapped the shore. She was supposed to meet Anne at Amy’s house to talk about the play. Anne had been to her piano lesson, and Nita had stayed after school to help Mrs. Sommers clean the guinea pig cage.

  And then, all of a sudden, Nita saw it again. Just what she had seen yesterday on the way to school. The white patch of snow flew up in the air again, and this time it didn’t vanish. It wasn’t snow, it really was a bird, just as she had thought.

  Nita caught her breath. It was there. A huge white bird, an … owl, staring back at her from a low sand dune. The round, unblinking yellow eyes bored into her brain, until Nita squeezed her own eyes shut for just a second. Even then, yellow spots danced on the insides of her eyelids. She stared again, trying to get used to the amazing sight.

  Her heart thumped. Would the owl hurt her? It seemed so beautiful, so calm and unafraid, but she could see its huge curved talons clutching the dune grass. Wind ruffled the snowy feathers. The owl didn’t seem cold; it seemed completely at home in this icy setting. Nita wished she could feel at home like that, comfortable on an icy sand dune, not needing anything.

  Far away, she heard the sound of a truck. The ow
l’s head swiveled, and as the truck came closer, the big bird spread its wide white wings. Nita gasped. With a flap of its wings and a shake of suddenly appearing feathery legs, the owl was carried down the beach by the wind, soared low over the edge of the water, and vanished around the rocky point.

  That owl was as big as a … as a … fire hydrant, she thought as she passed one at the edge of the road. I’ll tell Petrova! She’ll be so excited! Didn’t Anne say Petrova had been going all the way to the airport to band owls, and now here was one right here in town!

  She turned into the Bradleys’ driveway. The world looked different. The wintry sky was owl-colored, and the bright-brass knocker on Amy’s front door gleamed like the owl’s yellow eyes. Then Nita banged on the door and the spell was broken.

  Amy’s house was full of dogs and little boys. Anne was already there, and Nita was caught in a whirlwind of action. There was no way to tell anyone about the owl.

  Finally, the girls shut themselves in Amy’s room for a play conference. Her room was crowded with projects—knitting, drawing, and play costumes. On the wall was a blown-up photograph of a green iguana, which at that size looked like a dragon.

  “Guess what?” asked Nita.

  “You want to be in the play,” said Amy.

  “Yes, but guess what I saw?”

  Amy finally gave Nita her full attention. Her big brown eyes looked out from her wild hair and focused on Nita. “What did you see?”

  “A huge white owl! On the beach.”

  “A snowy owl?” asked Anne.

  “Is that what they’re called? I can’t wait to tell Petrova.”

  Amy reached for her book of Snow White. “Wait a second,” she said. “I think … yeah, listen. I thought I remembered there’s an owl in this story! The story goes: ‘And the birds of the air came too, and bemoaned Snow White: first of all came an owl.…’”

  “I wonder…” said Nita, but then she didn’t speak her chilling thought aloud. I wonder if my owl came because of my Mom. Maybe it came to bemoan her, to cry for her, because she was lying so still and not talking, as if Mom were Snow White in her glass coffin. Maybe it came to get her. Maybe it means she’s going to die.