Fire Is Your Water

by Minick, Jim;

Betty pulled out the coins and handed them to her. “Thank you, Ada. And thank you for not telling anyone.”

  Ada returned her gaze and nodded.

  At the door, Betty turned back. Her face no longer held fear, but instead there was anger and something else—pity. She didn’t say anything, just grabbed her coat and rushed out the door.

  Why was Betty mad at her? She wasn’t the one sleeping around getting lice. What had she done to rile her?

  And now in the milking shed with her father humming, Ada understood. Betty knew the rumors, knew what Ada and the rest of the town thought of her. But Betty also knew love—or what she thought was love. She knew the kind of intimacy Ada had only imagined. And she pitied Ada.

  After Betty left, Ada found the potatoes sitting on the table. She threw them out and wondered if the warts would disappear.

  31

  Same Day

  As Will ate his breakfast, Cicero perched on the other chair, making low grunts, ruffling his feathers.

  “I already said good morning to you,” Will said. “Here, eat your cereal.” He pushed a bowl of dry Cheerios toward the raven.

  Cicero ignored his bowl to hop closer to Will’s. In the middle of the table, he threw back his head, opened his beak, and fluttered his wings—his begging posture. His squawks were harsh and loud.

  “Good lord, bird, hush up. You know how to feed yourself. Get to it.”

  Cicero stepped closer and resumed the begging posture.

  “You don’t give up, do you?” Will dropped a few pieces into Cicero’s mouth. “There. Now have at it.”

  Cicero gulped and opened his beak wide again. The squawks filled the apartment.

  Will watched and ate. In a deep voice, he said, “Nevermore, quoth the Raven.” This made Cicero pause. Will grinned, repeated it, and said, “Now get on. I ain’t feeding you.” He picked up his bowl and turned away.

  Cicero didn’t hesitate. He hopped to the table’s edge to rock back and knock on Will’s collarbone like a woodpecker searching for grubs.

  “Ouch!” Will almost spilled his cereal. “That hurt, Cicero.” With his elbow, he shoved the bird to the other side of the table.

  Cicero marched right back and pecked hard on Will’s shoulder.

  “Damn it, bird.” Will stood and leaned against the counter to finish his cereal and drink his coffee. Cicero stopped begging, the raucous voice suddenly quiet. He preened his chest feathers, as if he was pouting. Eventually, Cicero hopped to his bowl, picked up a few pieces, and raised his beak to let them slide down his throat. He chortled with pleasure. After a few more bites, he began playing with the round circles, throwing them onto the floor, and even spearing one on his upper beak. This evoked a low gurgling. The bird, it seemed, could laugh.

  Will picked up the raven’s empty bowl. As he turned, Cicero flew up to his shoulder.

  “Are we back to being buddies?”

  Cicero rocked once and croaked, “OK.”

  Will imitated the bird: “OK.”

  In the bedroom, Will dressed in old jeans and a T-shirt. He filled his pockets with comb, handkerchief, and wallet. He reached into the ashtray to scoop out change, but his fingers found nothing. Worse, though, the ashtray contained no keys.

  “Damn it, Cicero.”

  The raven sat in the kitchen, preening. In a soft voice, Cicero said, “Damn it, Cicero.”

  Will marched in. “What did you do with my keys?”

  Cicero repeated, “Damn it, Cicero.” He hopped from side to side.

  “Damn it, Cicero,” Will said.

  “Damn it, Cicero,” Cicero echoed.

  “This ain’t funny. Where are my keys?”

  “Damn it, Cicero. Damn it, Cicero. Damn it, Cicero.” The raven laughed and bobbed.

  Will searched the kitchen, pulling out drawers, opening cabinets, finding only dead spiders.

  In the sitting room, he lifted cushions and knelt to look under the sofa and chair, hand-me-downs from Aunt Amanda. Nothing there but dust balls the size of cantaloupes. “Why don’t you ever clean this place?” he asked Cicero. The bird gave one grunt, a kind of “Whatcha doin’, Will?” noise.

  “You know you could help by telling where you hid my keys?”

  Cicero just gave his grunt call.

  Will moved to his bedroom. He pulled out dresser drawers, looked behind the bureau, and crawled under the bed. Again, nothing but dust.

  “Where are they?” he shouted. Cicero flew in and landed on his shoulder. “Come on, buddy, help me out.” The raven gave a low caw and flitted to the dresser. He tapped his beak on the empty ashtray. “That’s right. Empty because of you. What did you do with my keys?”

  Cicero circled Will, filling the small room. He landed on the bed rail and glanced at the closet. Will turned to rummage among his shoes. He slid the few hangers of shirts and examined high on the shelf. There, a glint of metal. Stretching, he touched the cool edges of his keys.

  “So this is your secret stash, eh?”

  Cicero one-foot paced on the bed rail.

  Will reached again, unable to see. He probed the dark corner to pull out shiny pennies and dimes, two quarters. “This is all my soda money, buddy. I’ve been going thirsty because of you.” Next, a dollar bill. “Jeez, Cicero. You’re trying to send me to the poor farm.”

  Last, a white handkerchief, monogrammed with his mother’s initials. Will turned silent, inspecting it. The cloth had no tears, the bird hadn’t shredded it, so he gently folded and slid the cloth under his shirts in the top bureau drawer.

  He didn’t look at the raven. “Come on,” he said and strode out of the apartment.

  Cicero

  So I had a little fun? A raven’s always hungry, remember, especially for the shiny stuff. Dimes and quarters. Car keys. You never know. One day I may need them. I think I could steer easy enough.

  Easy enough, too, to learn such a fine phrase as damn it. Learn that and you ride a whole flood—damn it of anger, damn it of joy, damn it of rage, damn it of amazement, as in I can’t believe he just flew a loop-de-loop. That’s the one I want to hear.

  But when Will didn’t say it anymore, when he found that hankie and grew silent, I suddenly felt the damn it of shame. I didn’t know then what that hankie meant, didn’t know its story. And now that I do, I’m glad I didn’t shred the thing like I was tempted to. I would’ve been damned to hell for sure.

  32

  Same Day

  “That boy can hammer.” They sat at the supper table, Ada’s father pointing his fork at Will. “He almost nailed down flooring faster than Tom Kendig.”

  “That lumber’s so green it spurts every time you sink a nail. Had to keep wiping my eye.” Will winked at Ada.

  “That’ll make the nails hold better,” her father said between bites. “And besides, if we were putting them boards down dried, you’d have to swing a sledgehammer to get a nail through that oak.”

  Her mother read a section of Nathan’s latest letter from Germany.

  “Sounds like he’s enjoying himself,” Will said.

  “Oh, I think he’s finally getting over his shyness,” Kate replied.

  “We had a little excitement this afternoon while you went to the post office.” Peter nodded to Kate. “We heard Lucky barking from the yard, so I sent Will, here, to have a look. He came back and said I had to see for myself. Now, Kate, don’t get upset when I tell you this. But that Cicero was sitting up in the top of our maple, and Lucky was sitting on the ground barking and barking, looking right at that bird. And every minute or so, Cicero would break off a branch and throw it at Lucky. I swear that’s what he was doing. Lucky would grab the stick and shake it in his mouth until he snapped it in two. I tell you, that dog’s never barked at any bird before, but he sure knows one bird he doesn’t like.”

  “Do I need to get my shotgun?”

  “Now, Kate. That bird ain’t ever gonna get close enough to Lucky to do any harm, now that he can fly. They’re just playing.”

 
“He’s right, Mrs. Franklin,” Will said. “They’re just playing. No harm in that.”

  Someone knocked at the front door, and Peter got up to answer it. He came back to tell Ada that Jesse Shupe wanted to speak with her. “I told him just to wait out on the porch.” He avoided looking at Will.

  “I wonder what he wants,” her mother said, while Ada excused herself. The table stayed quiet, but no one could hear the conversation outside.

  When Ada returned five minutes later, she didn’t talk.

  “Well?” her father said. “What did he want?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to tell us, Peter.”

  “It’s all right, Mama.” Ada drank some water. “He came by to apologize for all the things he’s done. He even mentioned shooting at Cicero.”

  “Why in the world?”

  “And he came to say goodbye. He’s been drafted. He’s shipping out tomorrow.”

  Peter excused himself. He wanted to thank Jesse for his help, but by the time he got out the door, Jesse was already gone.

  33

  At work, as soon as Will got out of his car, Woody came out of the garage and mumbled, “Dickson’s on the rag.” He didn’t say anymore, just headed out to the pumps. Will put his lunch in his locker and turned to find Buddy Dickson leaning against the door, blocking his path. “Just the man I was looking for.”

  “Morning, Buddy.”

  “And a good morning to you. Hey, our church is having a revival next week. I’d like to see you in our pews. How about it?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Oh, but why not?”

  “I gave up on church a long time ago.”

  “But we haven’t given up on you, Will Burk. Just because your parents died doesn’t mean you have to forsake the Lord.”

  Will faced his locker. He felt like punching something. “You leave my mom and dad out of this.”

  “I think they’re at the very heart of your lack of faith, Will, so I can’t. And I knew your mama, knew how much she loved the Lord, and I know how much she’d be worried about your soul right now.”

  “You don’t know shit.”

  “That so? Well, tell me, Mr. Burk, if I’m so wrong, what do you believe?”

  Will turned to him. “I believe I don’t give a goddamn about your church. I don’t ask about your private business, so I expect the same in return.” He shoved past Dickson and headed out into the morning sun.

  AT 3:01, Will got off and drove the Plymouth across the lot to park at the restaurant’s back door. He leaned against the front fender and combed his hair, watching the stream of HoJo’s workers step out into the bright sunlight and blustery wind. From his perch on the backseat, Cicero also watched. Yesterday, Will had cleaned the car and fashioned a stick from one back door to the other, something a little easier for Cicero to ride on. The raven hopped back and forth, cawing from the open windows.

  “All right, Cicero,” Will said softly. “Any minute now Ada is going to walk out and smile when she sees us.” Sure enough, his prediction came true.

  Ada and Ellie were the last out the door. They both wore bright red lipstick, something Will hadn’t seen on Ada before.

  “Have fun.” Ellie squeezed Ada’s arm. As she passed Will, she winked and grinned.

  Will opened the car door. “Burk’s chauffeur service here to take you home.” He bowed and hoped the guys at the station weren’t watching.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Burk.” Ada slid in. “Hello, Cicero. How are you today?”

  “Damn it, Cicero. Damn it, Cicero.”

  Will leaned into her open window, his smile skittish. “He learned a new phrase yesterday. Can’t seem to remember anything else.” Ada laughed and held in her impulse to repeat Cicero’s new sentence.

  As they rolled past the pumps, Will honked and waved to the other Esso boys, who shouted and hooted. And then the three of them were driving away from Blue Mountain Plaza, from everyone’s prying gaze, away into their own little world on this clear-skyed day.

  “I thought we’d take a little detour before I took you home. That all right?” He glanced across the seat. “And I told your folks you might be a little late coming home.”

  “You did?”

  “Oh, I had a nice chat with your father while we worked on the barn the other day.”

  Ada rested her arm on the open window, the wind slipping along her sleeve. “So, where’re we going?” She had to yell, the wind growing louder as they picked up speed.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Will hollered.

  Cicero stayed quiet, his feathers ruffled by the gusts. He watched the slow-moving trucks they passed, and he looked for other birds.

  They drove past Ada’s exit, and as they approached the tunnels, Will shouted, “Betcha can’t hold your breath through.” He sucked in huge gasps, and she did the same before the darkness of the first tunnel swallowed them. Will’s hands and face glowed in the dashboard lights, and he leaned back in his seat. Ada pressed her lips tight. The thump of her heart slowed—she felt it in her ears even—and her chest burned. For a moment she remembered Aunt Amanda’s fear. The brightness at the end of the tunnel seemed too far away.

  A few car lengths from the end, she let out her breath loudly, her whole body buzzing. Will grinned and shook his head. His face turned purple, and when sunlight filled the car, he exhaled with a loud gush.

  “Try it again,” he shouted as they passed through Gunter Valley.

  Again, they both sucked in air. This time, Will reached over for her hand. Ada squeezed hard. She wanted to laugh at his tight-lipped grin, his arched eyebrows, the pained and foolish face. “We’re almost there,” he wheezed. Her head jerked as he stepped on the gas, the car rocketing forward out of the darkness.

  They both made it all the way through the second tunnel. They breathed in great swells of new air, their hearts once more beating fast.

  “I think you cheated on that first one,” Ada said, her hair whipping around her face.

  “Never would I cheat,” Will said, touching his chest, “especially not on you, and especially not today.”

  “Why not today?”

  “Because it’s your birthday, of course.” He grinned, knowing she was surprised.

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Oh, a little bird just came down and tapped me on the shoulder, said you better do something special for Ada Franklin today.”

  “Yeah, a little bird named Ellie.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of such an avian species. I’ll have to ask Aunt Amanda about that.”

  “Speaking of birds, look at yours.”

  Will glanced in the rearview mirror. The raven had his eyes closed, and he rocked slightly with the car’s movements. “The tunnels always put him to sleep. He’ll wake up soon enough.”

  After a few more miles, Will turned off at Willow Hill, and Cicero gave a low series of chuck-chuck-chucks. “He knows where we are.”

  At the tollbooth, Audrey Swartz handed Will the clipboard. She leaned a little lower to look across the seat. Will didn’t want to say more than hello, but Audrey greeted Ada, and Will felt obliged to introduce her. “Good to meet you,” the two women said at the same time. Will signed his name and asked about Jacob.

  “He’s doing better. Sounds like the nurses are treating him right. Who knows, he might come home with a limp and a new bride.”

  To Ada, Will said, “Jacob’s her son. He got shot in the leg over in Korea.” He handed back the clipboard. “He should be home soon, right?”

  “They say another week or two, but with the army, you never know.” Audrey glanced in the backseat. “Hold on a minute.” She rummaged through her lunch bag. “I made this for Cicero.” She handed Will a boiled egg. “Thought he might enjoy.” Cicero squawked so loudly Ada had to hold her ears.

  “You keep doing this, he might come stay with you.” Will laughed and thanked her. As he turned north, he said to Ada, “Cicero’s getting a fan club. Guys at work bring him de
ad mice, and Dino even brought him a snake. Took him a while to realize it was dead, but then Cicero must’ve played with that thing for three hours before he finally ate it. Ain’t that right, boy?”

  Cicero bobbed and said, “OK.” He looked over the seat for the egg.

  “I’ll give you this in a little bit, just hold on.”

  Cicero bobbed again, the “OK” quick and short.

  They passed the town bank and Will’s old high school. Cicero’s squawks filled the car as they drove by Will’s apartment. “That’s where I live,” he shouted and pointed above Ernie’s garage. Then to Cicero, “Not yet. You know where we’re going.”

  “So where are you taking me?”

  “Have to wait and find out.” Will gunned the engine, and they raced down the straight stretch toward Dry Run.

  At the Path Valley Cemetery, Will pointed. “That’s where my mother and father are buried.” He said it like an afterthought.

  “I see.” Ada looked as they passed. “Sometime you’ll have to take me to their graves.”

  Will shrugged. He wanted to forget Dickson and his questions, his insistence on always bringing up his mother and her faith. Yet there it was, that memory from this morning. Damn him anyway. And there was that conversation with Ada in the orchard, their first little spat. Will didn’t want that to come between them, but he also didn’t want anything to do with a church. Why does everyone insist I have to believe what they do? Shitfire. Not today.

  He leaned forward and checked the sky, the cloud tufts chasing one after the other. Will pushed out the doubts and grinned at the high blueness of this darling day. And that wind—a rolling, raucous party of gusts blustering down from the mountain to help celebrate. Perfect, Will thought, yes indeed, perfect.

  He glanced over the back of the seat. “Hey, Cicero, what do you know about Ada?”

  Cicero ignored Will, kept his eye on a crow.

  “Come on, buddy. What is Ada?”

  Cicero bobbed and said, “OK.”

  “Oh, that’s honest,” Ada said.

  “Naw, Cicero. You know what she is. Say it, buddy.”

  The raven was silent and looked the other way.