Eagle & Crane

by Suzanne Rindell

  Louis nodded and obeyed, walking to where Earl had pointed as though in a trance. He’d woken up in a cold sweat that morning, remembering his foolish pledge from the day before to walk on the wings of an airplane. The sharp edges of terror had worn off, but now he was a bit numb and dazed. Harry spotted him approaching and smiled.

  “Ready to make history?”

  Harry’s tone was amicable, and Louis recognized an old vestige of the short-lived friendship the two boys had once shared—a happy alliance between two neighboring kids many years ago when they were boys. Louis felt the forgotten glimmer of something familiar but pushed it away.

  “We’re hardly making history,” he replied. “Plenty of people have gone wing walking before.” Louis had collected several newspaper and magazine clippings over the years. He’d been fascinated with airplanes, with barnstormers and stuntmen—fascinated, that is, from a comfortable armchair distance. But just because he’d read about it didn’t mean he was eager to do it himself. Why had he agreed to this insanity? He’d been baited.

  “Must mean it’s perfectly safe!” Harry replied with a smile.

  Louis glared at him.

  “I take it you’re nervous.” Harry smiled. “Me, too.”

  But Harry did not look nervous. Harry never looked nervous. Louis knew all too well: If Harry had nerves, they were made of iron. Louis felt all the more rankled. As they continued to wait, Louis made an effort to avoid further interaction with Harry. It wasn’t difficult. Earl Shaw had been right: People all wanted to get a look at the two boys, shake their hands, wish them luck.

  * * *

  Over an hour and a half elapsed as Earl made certain to beat the bushes for every paying customer he could. Buzz and Hutch loaded up each passenger in turn. Finally, there were no more people standing in the line waiting to go up for a scenic flight.

  But the crowd had not dissipated—if anything, it had steadily grown. Everyone was waiting to see what would become of Louis Thorn and Harry Yamada. The air was filled with electric anticipation tinged with a hint of morbidity.

  Louis listened as Earl began to address the crowd.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for . . . two of your very own local boys will take to the skies in an attempt to perform a harrowing, hair-raising act of bravery! Will they or won’t they—that’s the big question, folks! Will they find the courage to walk in the footsteps of barnstormers and daredevils everywhere, and step out onto the wings as they fly high, high, high above the earth . . .”

  Louis couldn’t hear the rest; the whoosh of blood in his ears had drowned everything else out. Earl’s voice droned on. Spectators whispered excitedly to one another. Louis stared straight ahead, seeing nothing and comprehending nothing as the minutes ticked by. The next thing Louis became aware of was Harry’s elbow gently prodding him in the ribs. Louis intuited the elbow’s message: Showtime.

  “Lads!” Earl Shaw swooped over to them both. “Are you quite ready? Your grand adventure awaits!”

  Louis took a breath. He and Harry exchanged a look and nodded nearly in unison. Earl shepherded them off in the direction of the two biplanes.

  “Good luck!” someone from the crowd shouted.

  “Don’t break yer necks!”

  Louis walked toward the blue plane, where Buzz was waiting. Harry walked toward the red plane and Hutch.

  “So here’s what you want to do, kid,” Hutch was saying to Harry. He pointed to the wings of the biplane. “Walk out on the lower wing here; that way, if you need to, you can steady yourself with the struts or the cable wires that run between the two wings. Try not to be too rough if you can help it.”

  “Hear that?” Buzz said to Louis. “Listen to what Hutch is telling him.” Louis nodded.

  “And walk slowly,” Hutch continued, “so I can feel ’er as she goes and correct for your weight. That way I can keep ’er level. Don’t just shoot out to the tip of the wing; you’ll make my job difficult. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Harry replied.

  “We’ll put both planes on a nice, steady course, directly over the field. You can start your walking a little before we get near the crowd. We’ll tell ya when.”

  Hutch climbed up into the cockpit of the red plane, and Harry followed suit. Buzz and Louis did the same.

  “Get all that?” Buzz asked Louis.

  Louis nodded, though he couldn’t feel his neck. The cold, numbing sensation was spreading. “Anything else we oughta know?” he asked.

  Buzz thought about this for a second and shrugged. “You know how to walk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I imagine that’s the long and short of it. Only you’d better lean just slightly into the wind. Don’t want to get blown off the wing.”

  “You ever wing walked before?”

  “Hell, no,” Buzz said, pulling on his cap and goggles. “I ain’t an idiot.” Before Louis had a chance to respond, Buzz yelled out, “CONTACT!” and pressed the electric starter. Louis felt his stomach turn over, churning in sync with the propeller. He cast an anxious glance at the red plane, where Harry sat in the cockpit in front of Hutch. Harry’s stoic face was unreadable. His eyes behind the goggles seemed unseeing.

  In no time flat, they were in the air. Buzz’s takeoff was smooth and steady. Louis was too nervous to appreciate it, fixated as he was on the task before him. Suddenly the cockpit seemed impossibly steep and snug. How was he supposed to climb out and crawl onto the wing? he wondered. He was aware, too, of the wind whipping over his face: Had it been that forceful during yesterday’s flight? Louis felt himself starting to sweat under his clothes. His forehead and cheeks, too, were sweating, but the wind dried them instantly, chilling him in spite of the warm spring sun overhead. He twisted around again to get a look at Harry. The red plane floated just behind them. Harry looked like a statue, his expression focused but serene.

  Buzz and Hutch flew a distance away from Sumpter’s field and then circled around. They fell into formation side by side and dropped a bit lower to the ground, then leveled out, both of them flying a steady course, just as Hutch had promised. When they were still some distance away from the field, Buzz and Hutch signaled to each other and traded a thumbs-up.

  “Okay, kid!” Buzz shouted to Louis. “Time to climb out onto the wing.”

  Louis nodded and clenched his jaw but didn’t move. He glanced over at the red biplane. Presumably, Hutch was hollering the same instructions to Harry. As Louis looked on, Harry carefully kneeled on the seat, then stood, leaning forward at the waist and clutching the rim of the cockpit. He swung first one leg over to the wing, then the other.

  “Hey, kid!” Buzz shouted. “Did you hear me? Time to climb out on the wing.” He followed Louis’s gaze and spotted Harry. “See! Like your friend there is doing.”

  Louis didn’t move. Frozen, he watched as Harry gripped the strut—the bar running between the cockpit and the upper wing—and slowly straightened up, testing his footing on the wing. After a few seconds, Harry removed one hand from the strut, then the other. He staggered just slightly, got his bearings, and tilted forward into the wind.

  “Say, kid,” Buzz hollered. “It’s now or never!”

  Louis willed himself to move, but nothing happened. Meanwhile, Harry began to inch his way farther out on the wing, sliding his feet over the metal surface rather than lifting them. They were drawing near to Sumpter’s field now. Louis could make out the crowd of onlookers far off in the distance.

  “I don’t blame you, kid, but I gotta warn you: This is your last chance,” Buzz called. “Do you want to leave all the wing walking to your friend?”

  Oh, hell, Louis thought. He finally willed himself to move. First he did as Harry had done, climbing so as to stand on his seat and gripping the rim of the cockpit. His legs felt absurdly weak and rubbery. Doubled over like that, he placed
one tentative foot on the wing, then the other, his knuckles white where he gripped the strut overhead. He caught a glimpse of the ground below—it was only when you looked directly down that you could tell how fast the plane was traveling—and his mind silently and involuntarily strung together a sequence of more expletives than Louis had ever realized he knew.

  He stood there for several seconds, gripping the strut where it made a diagonal slash above his head. They were now nearly over Sumpter’s field. What looked like a blur of colorful dots turned into people, and Louis could see a sea of upraised arms, all of them pointing and waving with excitement. He looked over and saw that Harry had made diligent progress, moving all the way to the tip of the wing and on the verge of initiating his return voyage. Something surged in Louis.

  All at once, he released his grip on the bar and made a speedy beeline all the way to the tip of the wing as fast as he could.

  He had forgotten the warning he’d overheard Hutch give Harry: not to dash out to the tip of the wing too suddenly. The biplane tipped with the abrupt weight redistribution, and for a brief, terrifying second Louis lost his balance. He pitched forward on his toes and his arms wheeled in the air. Down below, spectators screamed and various mothers clapped quick hands over their children’s eyes.

  But Buzz quickly righted the plane while at the same time one of Louis’s wheeling arms caught hold of the vertical struts that braced the far end of the biplane’s two sets of wings.

  “Ho-leee shit, kid!” Buzz shouted. “You gotta take it more slowly out there! Or, at the very least, give a fella some warning!”

  Louis nodded. His heart was in his mouth by that point. A few more seconds went by as he continued to grip the bar at the far end of the biplane’s wing.

  “Now inch your way back to the cockpit,” Buzz hollered. “SLOWLY. If you need to, use those guide wires there to steady you.”

  In all the commotion, Louis had lost track of the other biplane. He looked for it now and saw that Harry was already crawling back into the cockpit. Once safely within, Harry raised a hand and waved. Was he taunting Louis or encouraging him?

  Either way, a flicker of something Louis believed he glimpsed in Harry’s wave triggered him, and he found himself letting go of the outer strut and shuffling inch by inch back toward his own cockpit. His knees still quivered but he made sure progress. As Buzz had instructed, he steadied himself with the wires. After a minute or so, he reached his destination, grabbed on to the rim of the cockpit, and felt a flood of relief wash over him. Resisting the urge to scramble, he climbed back in deliberately and carefully.

  “Wooo-hooo, kid!” Buzz shouted. “Attaboy! You did it! I almost thought we were going to have to clean you up off of that farm field down there. I’m overjoyed we ain’t gotta!”

  Louis did not reply. They flew on for another minute or so.

  “Well, kid? Cat got your tongue? How do you feel?”

  Louis turned around to face Buzz. He was still wordless. But the giant grin on his face did all the talking for him.

  15

  Earl was clearly surprised that Louis and Harry had not fallen to their deaths. Nonetheless, Ava was a little horrified to observe how surprised.

  Once Castor and Pollux touched down, an enormous roar of applause spontaneously erupted from the crowd. All four of them—Buzz, Hutch, Louis, and Harry—were instant celebrities, but Louis and Harry especially. Ava noticed that Earl kept close tabs on the two young men as folks all around clapped them on their backs, shook their hands, and even hoisted them into the air and once or twice upon people’s shoulders.

  “Well done, fellas!” Earl said, steering Louis and Harry away from the adoring crowd. “Well done! Say . . . are you boys free this evening? Your rare feat calls for a celebration—booze and food on me! Whaddaya say?”

  Ava watched Louis’s and Harry’s faces as they exchanged a look. Their icy stand-off seemed to melt, if only slightly.

  “I’ll convince my pilots to come along, too,” Earl pressed. “Hutch? Buzz?” he called. They nodded.

  “Well,” Louis said, shrugging. “All right. I suppose dinner’d be all right.”

  After a brief pause Harry nodded his agreement, too. Ava wondered what Earl was up to now.

  * * *

  Earl insisted they all clean themselves up and reconvene. Two hours later, when they returned at the appointed time, he instructed Buzz to help him unhitch the Model A from the caravan. He offered the front seat of the truck to Louis and Harry, but both boys firmly declined.

  “The women should ride up there,” Louis insisted awkwardly. “Especially seeing as how they got those nice clothes on.”

  As he mentioned Ava and her mother, Louis’s eyes flicked reflexively in Ava’s direction, his cheeks flushed red, and he immediately dropped his eyes to the ground.

  Doll yourselves up, Earl had ordered earlier. Cleo was wearing a silk dress and fresh red lipstick. Ava had changed out of her men’s trousers and was uncharacteristically attired in a navy velvet dress with an elegant, low-cut bib of lace that fluttered around her neck and shoulders. Her mother had brushed Ava’s short bob for her and pinned it neatly into pretty waves. Ava suspected it was a cheap tactic and that Earl hoped to intimidate the boys. In Louis’s case, at least, Earl’s plan appeared to be working.

  “You two are our guests of honor,” he said now, gesturing to the front seat.

  But Harry shook his head as well. “Wouldn’t be right.”

  Ava watched as Earl’s gaze slid over Harry’s face. She could see him pause as he took in the specific shape of Harry’s eyes, remembering the racial difference between Harry and the rest of the group.

  “Hmm,” he said. “Maybe you’ve got a point.”

  So Ava and her mother climbed into the front seat, and the truck bounced heartily as the four remaining men piled into the back. Earl put the Model A in gear and picked his way to the roads that led to Auburn, the town that contained the restaurant the locals had recommended. The old truck coughed and sputtered its way up the steep incline of the increasingly large foothills. They must have made a funny picture: everyone all dressed up, piled together in the jalopy.

  Auburn revealed itself to be an old mining town with a rather grand courthouse and a row of cozy brick buildings that served as a downtown. It was a charming, dusty village still haunted by the ghosts of the forty-niners who’d settled it, but compared to Newcastle it was practically metropolitan. They found their way past the round-domed courthouse and a half mile down a sloping road that led to the Freeman Hotel, which contained the only “fancy” restaurant around; the hotel, with its tennis courts, was the closest thing to a country club in the area. As they pulled up, Ava took a good look at the building. It was a large, white two-story structure, a railed balcony wrapping around the entire sprawl. Earl found a place to park the Model A, and the group poured out.

  Inside the hotel was a bar, a dining room, and a small dance floor. While it was all nice enough, the hotel bore an air of wistful decay. One could detect the money that had once poured into the hotel during its more prosperous days and how the upkeep had subsequently taken a hit during the Depression along with the rest of the nation. Now the facility was mainly keeping up the pretenses of its golden era.

  Unfortunately for Louis and Harry, one of those pretenses turned out to be the requirement that male diners wear dinner jackets. Earl was wearing a splendid jacket, and even Buzz and Hutch were wearing jackets—or, at least, slightly threadbare garments that passed for jackets. Louis and Harry had spruced themselves up, certainly; Ava thought they looked nice in their crisp clean shirts, snappy suspenders, and carefully combed hair. But within minutes of the group’s arrival, a maître d’ scurried over and made it clear that their lack of dinner jackets was not to be overlooked. They were hurried off to a coatroom while the rest of the party was shown to a table.

  “You could’ve told t
hem, Earl,” Ava said as they slid into a large round booth with silver-grommeted red leather seats.

  “Those fellas could’ve borrowed something at the very least,” Cleo chided softly.

  “How was I to know?” Earl protested. But the wide grin on his face betrayed him. By now Ava had caught on: Earl wished to strike some sort of deal with the two boys. At the moment, he was out to impress Louis and Harry, and one way to do that was to remind them that without Earl to shape their respective futures, they were just a pair of unsophisticated farm boys.

  A few minutes later, Ava watched as Louis and Harry emerged from the coatroom and walked self-consciously across the dining room. Something had shifted ever so slightly in the rapport between the two of them; a truce had been called, if not quite an alliance. Ava saw Harry lock eyes with Louis, and the two smirked as though stifling a couple of snickers. The jackets were both several sizes too large for the boys, lending them a clownish air. As they drew nearer, Ava overheard the tail end of a muttered exchange.

  “I don’t see how this is any better than what we’ve already got on.”

  “You look like an elephant lost in its own skin,” Harry remarked, raising an eyebrow at the pathetic gray jacket hanging on Louis’s shoulders.

  “You ain’t one to talk,” Louis replied.

  As they neared the table, a different maître d’—one who appeared more senior, presumably the hotel manager—hurried over to intercept Louis and Harry as they prepared to sit down.

  “May I help you?” he inquired in an unfriendly tone. His gaze was fixed on Harry’s face in particular.

  “Kind sir, the Chinaman and his friend are with me!” Earl intervened from where he sat in the booth. “They are my guests tonight.”

  After a second’s pause, the maître d’ bowed. “I see. My apologies.”

  Still not entirely convinced, he turned back to Louis and Harry with a cold, unwelcoming expression and walked stiffly away. Ava frowned. She looked at Harry, but his eyes were cast downward. She wondered if these occurrences happened regularly. She wondered if he was embarrassed, or angry, or perhaps . . . both? He gave no sign.