The Bird Saviors

by William J. Cobb

  Lord God told her the day before, Don't get cocky. Remember that pride is the worst of the seven deadly sins. You're setting yourself up for a fall.

  What? she asked. By learning something? By being useful to the world?

  Useful? Counting birds? Lord God shook his head. It's foolishness is what it is.

  It's science. It's knowledge.

  Those scientists don't know nothing. It's all a bunch of hooey.

  Ruby went silent.

  After a moment he said, The world's going to take you down a notch, you can bet on that. Soon as you think you're something, you'll regret it.

  But I am something. So are you. So are we all.

  Lord God stared at her as if at a halfwit child. The late- afternoon light caught the deep lines in his face, the tangled gray wires of his heavy beard. He looked like the ancient mariner himself and said, What you don't know would fill the Grand Canyon.

  Thanks, Papa. I love being told how stupid I am.

  Not stupid, no. But too young to know. Someday you'll realize what's important.

  I know what's important. Lila, you, Mama.

  But there's so much you don't remember. It breaks my heart. All those years and all those moments. Remember your little ceramic bunny, Bonnie the Bunny, the one we found in the forest? You would wake up after a nap and immediately give her an Eskimo kiss. You would rub your nose against hers and it was the cutest thing in the world.

  I don't remember that, said Ruby.

  Juliet and I were happy then. Look at me now, cursed and broken. Lord God shook his head. But what's done is done.

  I remember there was a stack of concrete pipes at the pipe factory down the road, said Ruby. You would take me there after closing hours to crawl through them.

  You loved those silly pipes. I never really wanted to go because it was trespassing, but there was an easy way down the back alley where we used to live. I met the security guard and he said he didn't care. Besides, I had to. If I didn't take you, you'd cry and scream.

  I liked the tunnels. It was like another world inside those pipes. They weren't pipes. They were portals to another world.

  That's what you called it. The Tunnels. I took you there every Sunday after church. It was the only way I could get you to get dressed up for church. You'd ask, Can we go to the Tunnels afterward? And I'd say, Yes, of course we can.

  I don't remember Mom ever being with us.

  She didn't go. She didn't like to stoop over inside those tunnels. And she wouldn't have let you crawl around inside them in the first place because of bugs.

  She's got this thing about spiders, doesn't she?

  Half your childhood she thought you'd die of a spider bite.

  Lord God reached out to touch Ruby's hand. She stared down at his outsized, scratchy hand, the knuckles so wide they seemed swollen, the nails dark with oil grit from working.

  He believes in an absurd God who visits him frequently and gives him visions colored by anger, jealousy, and paranoia. If she can steer him toward the way out, will he listen? She doesn't think so. But he's a good man and her father, and he's in need.

  She couldn't turn away. All she could do was stare at his hand and squeeze it.

  She raised her face to the kitchen window and wiped her eyes. Outside, the warm autumn wind swept furiously across the prairie, tousling the branches of the aspens by the woodshed. From one branch hung the bird feeder full of black oil seed. Black- headed Grosbeaks and White- Breasted Nuthatches bucked the wind to light on the metal cylinder of the bird feeder and peck seeds through its cage.

  Lord God stood and shuffled away. He seemed to be moving slower than ever. His hand grazed the top of Ruby's head. I'll go check on Lila, he said. Maybe you should grab something to eat. You've been working too hard.

  Later Ruby lies in bed and stares at the watermarks on the ceiling, remembering when they had first moved into this house, when she imagined the shapes to be bears and owls. They were her favorite childhood creatures, real and close at hand, not mythical. A Great Horned Owl had lived in the cottonwood tree in the gulch behind their house. Years ago, when enough rain fell that a small creek still flowed down the center of the canyon.

  She remembers green frogs she caught in the brackish pools, frogs that slipped through her fingers when she tried to catch them. Once she had sat quiet and still by the creek, watching late- afternoon shadows rise up the cliff walls of the gulch canyon, as if the dark were a river rising, as if it were being flooded with inky blueness. And then a shadow seemed to come to life in the branches of the cottonwood across the creek from her, a sudden unfolding of wings and a silent, graceful swoop toward the rock pool of the creek near her, the inky wings crossing into the silver reflection of the pool as, with a quick jab and thrust of talons, the owl snared a fat frog sitting in the reeds, pinning it to mud.

  Ruby loosed a yelp and the owl swiveled its head to look at her, blinked both its feline eyes twice as if wondering what creature this was sitting so still and silent, then dipped its head to bite the frog. Ruby marveled at its feathers, intricately layered with leaf browns and mouse grays, a splash of white at its throat. It ruffled its feathers and flapped its wings as it repositioned its hold on the squirming frog, then leaped into the air and flew soundlessly away to a perch in the cliffs.

  It all seemed to take place in the split second of a special moment. When Ruby stood and stretched and wiped the sand from the bottom of her shorts, the sunlight had passed below the mountains. All the gulch bathed in a royal blue wash of twilight. She could see up to the prairie, to the pale yellow world above. She didn't want to leave. Still she had to. She knew she would be in trouble with her mother and father if she came home in darkness. She crept home slowly, trying to stretch out the moment she was alone in the wild, just another animal at dusk. By the time she reached the crooked fence that marked her yard, her father stood at the back door, shouting her name.

  She lies in bed and hears Lila saying, Papa, Papa, Papa. It's her new word. She learned it from Ruby herself, from her calling out to Lord God, her father. Lila now calls Lord God her Papa. She does not know who her real father is, will never know. Lord God has become her father. Her other new word is Hi! Now, when she meets Lord God in the morning, she's learned to say, Hi, Papa!

  Lila smiles wide and loving when she says this. She knows this man as nothing but good in the small window of her life. She's a beautiful girl and it hurts Ruby to see this, to remember her childhood, to realize there will come a change, a time when it will not be enough to be beautiful and sweet. A time when those things will become a burden. When beauty and sweetness will become a curse.

  Maybe Lord God is right after all. Ruby hates to admit it. Lila needs a father, a man to look after her, to stand up for her and make sure the doors are locked at night. A man to toss her into the air and hear her squeal with delight.

  She hears Lila's voice from the kitchen, calling, Papa, Papa, Papa. She hears the deeper, rough voice of Lord God answer. Ruby can hear the cupboard cabinet doors being opened and shut and the creak and squeak of the hardwood floors as Lord God shuffles about. He must be getting Lila something. He cares for her with patience and kindness. He wants nothing but the best for her.

  When Lila begins to cry, Ruby pulls on a robe and goes down the hallway to the kitchen, where she finds Lord God bouncing Lila on his lap, trying to calm her.

  I took away her pacifier, he says. It's time she gave it up. She keeps it in her mouth all day long and it's not good for her.

  Lila cries harder and reaches her hands out for Ruby to take her. Tears wet her cheeks and she says, Mama!

  I think she's teething, says Ruby. Her teeth and gums hurt. That's why she wants the pacifier.

  Ruby gives Lila the pacifier. She can feel the heat and pressure of Lord God's disapproval as if she's at the bottom of a swimming pool and his presence is the weight of water. The room is so quiet she hears the drip of the kitchen faucet, the whistle of the wind against the windowpane
s. She picks up Lila and kisses her neck. My God, this girl is getting too big for me.

  She's a healthy thing, isn't she?

  Ruby carries her to the living room and sets her in the playpen in front of the picture window. The cottonwoods bend and sway in the dusty wind. There's so much smoke in the air from the wildfires that you can't see the mountains in the west. A rust- colored haze stains the sky, making Ruby feel claustrophobic, cut off from the rest of the world. Lila throws her dolly from the pen and reaches out to be picked up.

  Ruby groans and lifts her from the playpen, takes a seat on the sofa, then bounces Lila on her lap, staring out the window at the dirty world unfolding before her. Before long Lila falls asleep with the passy in her mouth. After waiting until she's completely limp, Ruby lays Lila down in the playpen and adjusts a blanket around her legs. She returns to the kitchen, where Lord God is reading the paper.

  Go ahead and set it up, says Ruby.

  For a moment Lord God hesitates, then he asks, Are you sure?

  No, not at all. But I'll meet this Mr. Page. You set it up and I'll be there.

  Are you doing this just for me?

  Well, yes. You. And Lila maybe.

  Okay, then. I'll give him a call.

  I'm not promising anything. Don't get your heart set on getting me out of the house.

  Is that what you think this is about?

  Lord God sounds hurt. Ruby looks at him and gives him a little smile. No. I don't think that.

  If you leave here, I don't know what I'll do.

  She comes up behind and him and gives him a hug. It's the first time they've touched in weeks. He stiffens at first, then gives in to it.

  I'm not going anywhere, says Ruby. I think you're stuck with me, Papa.

  His voice comes hoarse and trembling. He says, I wouldn't want it any other way.

  E z r a P a g e v i s i t s his uncle in the backyard of his home in Little Pueblo, where Hiram is overseeing the building of a gazebo. Two Mexicans are carrying a stack of two- by- twelves from the back of a pickup to the center of Page's prairie land scape. Ezra walks up wearing his short- brimmed cowboy hat. Hiram sees him and nods, makes him wait.

  He's explaining to one of the workers how he wants the gazebo positioned, the entrance facing the house due north and the inside benches facing east and west. The gusty wind blows grit in Ezra's eyes and as he's rubbing them, his hat flies off his head. He takes off running to catch it, and when he returns, Hiram looks at him and says, Nothing as foolish as a man chasing his hat.

  I'm sorry, Uncle Hiram. I know I let you down and I mean to make it right.

  Hiram cocks his head. You mean by losing your hat? No skin off my nose.

  No, I meant, you know. My trouble.

  Not sure what you're talking about.

  Well, you know I didn't mean to —

  Stop right there, kid. I don't want to hear it. I don't even want to know what you might be apologizing about. That's your business.

  Okay, then. I get it.

  You get it? Really? You do?

  I do.

  Then shut your mouth and listen. I want you to come work for me.

  Ezra grins. I like the sound of that. Doing what?

  Security.

  Security?

  Right, genius. At my business. I'll set up a station for you in

  side and out, to watch who comes and goes. We've got closed- circuit TVs on the front and back door, but no one's been watching them. That's going to change. You'll be in charge. If anyone shows up who looks like they're trouble, I'll want you to talk to them first. Can you handle that?

  I think so.

  You think so?

  Okay. Sure. I know so.

  You start tomorrow. The pay won't be much at first but you do a good job, it will get better. Wear a white shirt, clean jeans, boots. And see if you can keep that hat on your head. Though I like the scar. It gives you some gravitas.

  Ezra puts the hat in place, holding it by the brim against the wind. It itches, he says. The scar I mean. Helps me to remember it's there.

  That's a good thing, says Hiram. I want you to remember everything. Keeps a person on his toes. Which you'll need to be. Now go.

  Hiram offers his hand to Ezra, who starts to step away and then sees it, stumbles back to grab it, squeezes too hard. Hiram watches him cross the yard and turn the corner of the house, holding on to his hat, a figure not exactly inspiring confidence. His brother's boy, who takes too much after his mother, a woman whose forebears may have dipped into the same gene pool once too often. A plain Jane whose every notion comes from a garbled reading of scripture. Now her boy has a mortal sin on his soul like a discount sticker.

  . . .

  His first week Ezra makes a point to show up before Hiram every morning, to prove he's on the ball, that he can be trusted. His uncle tends to ignore him, and he's gone most of the time anyway, so Ezra is often alone there with Gracie, Hiram's clerk/manager, or her daughter, who often comes by to visit. They ignore Ezra too, and he senses the daughter doesn't like him. He's bored, sitting on a stool before the three security cameras when he's not walking the aisles. And the pawnshop hardly ever seems busy, so he waits, peevish and restless.

  I n W a r d ' s m o t e l r o o m at the Buffalo Head, Ruby doesn't know what to do with herself. September it is and should be cooling, but it's late afternoon and 106 degrees outside. The sky is hazy white with no clouds but a relentless sun. It feels good to sit in the cool room with the curtains drawn. The air conditioner rattles and whirs, blowing the lips of the curtains. Ward keyboards their bird counts into the data files on his laptop, leaning forward, his eyes squinting.

  She can tell he thinks of this as his office. To her, it's still a motel room. And she's still an unmarried girl only seventeen years of age, alone in a motel room with a man. Underage and already a mother: What could be worse? She sits in an upholstered chair near the window and pretends to be engrossed in the bird identification book in her lap.

  I think I saw a Pine Grosbeak the other day on a fence post,

  she says. But I'm not sure. Mom was driving me to town and I just got a quick glimpse of it.

  Where was it? Maybe we could go back and find it in the area.

  Maybe, she says. It was on the edge of town, the other side of that little park near the Arkansas. Where it's all dusty and raggedy- looking.

  I know where you mean, says Ward. That's the place I got lost in the dust storm my first day in town.

  I bet I passed not far from you, says Ruby.

  Ward smiles. If I'd found you in the storm, I could have given you a lift.

  Ruby looks up at the bad painting of a white wolf and an Indian in a snowy forest that hangs above the bed. She squints at it like an art critic. She smiles and asks, Is that the worst painting ever?

  Oh, come on, says Ward. I kind of like it.

  You like it? Ruby makes a face. Why is it that men have no taste?

  I have taste. It makes me think of snow. Which is a good thing to think in this heat wave.

  That wolf looks more like a rabid dog. Look at its face! Like it's wearing an evil grin.

  It's symbolic, says Ward.

  Of what?

  Like in "Little Red Riding Hood," only with a Native American twist? The wicked white man ready to pounce on the good Native people?

  It's corny, says Ruby.

  The phone rings and Ward frowns, giving it a look. The sound is loud and jarring in the small motel room, the old- fashioned phone on the nightstand between the two double beds jangling. Ward doesn't move to answer it. He keeps his eyes on the laptop screen, keyboarding in bird counts from his notepad. On the second ring he says, Now, who in the world could that be?

  On the fourth ring Ruby puts down her book. Shouldn't we answer that?

  It's probably a wrong number. I don't know anyone here.

  She picks up the phone and says, Hello, Ward Costello's room. She listens. Her face stiffens slightly. He's right here, she says
. She holds out the phone to him. It's for you all right. A girl.

  Ward gets up, takes the phone, and says, Hello. After a moment he says, Hi, Nisha. I'm fine. Thanks for asking. And how are you doing? He sits on the bed beside the nightstand. That's good to hear. So what's this problem?

  Ruby feels herself blush and her heart beats too fast. She stares at the distorted face of the white wolf in the painting and tries not to listen to Ward's conversation, but she can't help it. Something about a house and paperwork. Her hands sweat and the dampness makes her feel clammy and slimy as she wipes them on her jeans. She gets up and purposely does not look at Ward as she opens the door and steps out onto the breezeway.