Darkhouse

SIXTEEN

Corpus Christi, Texas, 1985

A red banner flapped between two wooden poles at the entrance to Hazel Bazemore County Park: ‘Welcome to Wildlife’.

‘Sounds like a porno,’ said Duke under his breath.

‘Yeah,’ said Donnie.

‘What you boys whisperin’ about?’ said Uncle Bill.

‘Nothin’,’ said Duke. He looked around. ‘This place looks great.’

‘I think you’re gonna like it,’ said Bill, slapping down notes at the booth. ‘You’ll get to see pretty much anythin’ Texas has to offer in the way of wildlife.’

Children were running around, laughing and shouting, pulling their parents in different directions. A giant furry chipmunk and owl were waving and handing out green balloons. Crammed onto every stall were books, toys or information on Texas wildlife. A photographer in a creamcoloured vest pushed through the crowd.

‘Picture, anyone? Take your picture, anyone?’

Four men in what looked like army fatigues, stood like war reporters with their binoculars, cameras and bags strapped across their bodies.

‘Go on, then,’ said one of them. ‘Might as well get one of all of us together. Today is a special day, we saw ourselves a few hundred different birds.’

The photographer stepped back and framed his shot. One click and the moment was preserved.

‘Would you like a picture, boys?’ said Uncle Bill.

‘Nah.’ Donnie ran his hand over his spotty jaw.

‘Nah,’ said Duke.

‘Well, maybe we can commemorate our big day some other way,’ said Uncle Bill.

‘Look,’ said Donnie, pointing to a small stall.

‘I’ll leave you boys to it,’ said Bill. ‘Here’s a few dollars.’

An elderly woman stood shuffling a handful of black rubber rings like they were playing cards. In three rows, like steps behind her, small prizes were mounted on upturned mugs. She looked at the two boys.

‘All you gotta do is hook one of these rings over them and it’s yours!’

‘We know that,’ said Duke.

‘One dollar, five rings.’

Duke handed her two dollars. He looked across the rows and saw a silver digital watch with a flashing red face. He pointed at it.

‘That’s mine,’ he said to Donnie. The woman chuckled. Duke stared at her as he raised his right hand.

‘Like skimmin’ stones,’ he said, turning to Donnie. ‘Simple.’ He focused on the watch, flicked his wrist and the ring landed high, bouncing off the step above. Duke shuffled his feet and steadied his hip against the counter. The rings flew again and again until he had no more left. He was furious.

‘This game’s rigged,’ he said.

‘You watch your mouth, boy,’ said the old woman.

He began to raise his knee up on the counter to climb over. She stepped wide and stood in front of him, her hand poised to hold back his chest. His arm flew up and he hit her hard on the palm, jerking her hand back.

‘Fuckin’ bitch,’ he said. ‘Don’t you fuckin’ touch me.’ He walked away. Donnie followed.

‘It’s three o’clock, boys,’ said Bill. He put his hand on their shoulders and pointed to a low dais where a tall, thin man dressed in beige was straightening a triangular sign on a wooden table.

‘Cool,’ said Duke and Donnie. They walked over to join the crowd gathered in front.

The man tapped a narrow microphone and began to speak.

‘Afternoon, everyone. The name’s Len and I’m here to talk to you today about the Harris’ Hawk, one of the most popular falconry birds in North America.’ Bill nodded at Duke.

‘First things first,’ said Len. ‘The Harris’ Hawk’s official title is Parabuteo Unicinctus, part of the family Accipitidae. It’s a buteo, a soaring hawk, found in the wild from Arizona through Mexico right the way down to Chile and Argentina. It’s a medium-sized hawk, typically weighing in between 1.25, 2.5 pounds. The female is larger and more powerful than the male.

‘Now, on to the fun stuff. Wolves with wings.’ He looked around the crowd. ‘Anyone know what I mean by that?’ Duke knew. His eyes were bright.

‘What I mean,’ said Len, ‘is the Harris’ Hawk hunts co-operatively, like a wolf, like a lion. It is exceptionally rare for a bird of prey. Two, three or even more Harris’ Hawks will work together to capture their quarry. They attack with military precision. This is not a free-for-all. They know what they’re doing. First they will thoroughly sweep the area to locate their quarry. After that, there are many ways the combined force of the hawks can pursue it. An example is that one bird will flush it out – whether it’s a jack rabbit, a rodent, a lizard – and then will take turns with the other to, verycleverly, chase that prey until it’s weakened, exhausted and ready to be killed. The creature doesn’t stand a chance. The Harris’ Hawks’ talons can grip, crush and kill instantly and they won’t release until the prey has stopped moving. Remember this is a bird designed for hunting. It can spot a mouse in motion a mile away. It has a third eyelid that is drawn over the eye when flying at speed to protect it from injury or – once its feet touch the prey – to protect it from a thrashing victim. Its talons are immensely powerful. If you could create the ultimate commando, what would he be? He would be focused. He would be intelligent. He would be accurate. The Harris’ Hawk is all of these things. But where your commando would be happy under cover of darkness, the Harris’ Hawk hunts in daylight. His night vision is no better than ours.’ Duke’s attention was fixed on the skinny, hunched man and the controlled hand gestures he used to make his points.

‘Yes, the Harris’ Hawk is a pretty impressive killing machine. And yet it’s hard to find a bird that looks more elegant and graceful in flight.’ He smiled. ‘But,’ he said, drawing out the word, changing his face to serious, ‘it pains me to hear those falconers out there who can only talk about the number of kills their bird has made.’ Duke was distracted, staring past him, focused on something in the distance. ‘That’s not what falconry is all about,’ continued Len. ‘Killing for the Harris’ Hawk or any bird of prey is about survival. And we all do what we have to do to survive.’ Uncle Bill stayed for the rest of the talk, but Duke was on his feet, dragging Donnie away.

‘Wasn’t that amazing?’ said Duke.

‘Sure was,’ said Donnie.

‘Aren’t they awesome? The way they work like that?’

‘Yeah, a real team.’

‘We could be like that.’

‘We’re a team, Duke, ain’t we?’

‘But can you imagine what we could do?’

‘Like what? Kill varmin?’ Donnie laughed.

‘No. You know, get what we want, work as a team to get what we want.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I dunno. Maybe, I dunno. What do you want?’

‘That girl over there,’ laughed Donnie. ‘Check her out.’ He pointed to a girl in a short blue skirt with a tight yellow T-shirt.

‘Well, you know if that’s what you wanted and for some reason you couldn’t get it, we could help each other get what the other one wants. Say if I wanted somethin’ else, like…’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll think about it. But whatever it was, we could do it together.’

‘Like when I roll my dad over when he’s drunk and you pick out his wallet?’

‘Well kinda, yeah. You’d never be able to do that on your own. ’Member the first time we saw them? When they went for that quail? I’ll never forget that as long as I live.’

‘It’s just what they do though, isn’t it, to survive?’ said Donnie.

‘Survivin’ is bullshit. I’ve done all my survivin’. It’s time to go out and just get.’

Uncle Bill studied the plastic tray on the table in front of him. It held three rows of pins, each separated into four small compartments.

Uncle Bill picked one up. Duke and Donnie walked over and leaned in to look at it.

‘That there a Harris’?’ said Bill, squinting at the pin in the sunlight.

‘Sure is,’ said the old man selling. ‘Rare, so it’ll cost ya. Not many manufacturers gettin’ that far into the breeds. Only a couple left, made by one of the locals.’

‘How much are they?’

‘Ten dollars.’

‘Well, I’m afraid all’s I got is a twenty,’ said Bill, taking out his wallet and winking at the boys. He put the notes on the table. ‘So I’m gonna have to take two.’ The man reached out across the rows. ‘No, no,’ said Bill. He pointed. ‘The maroon and gold.’

Duke and Donnie sat cross-legged in the dark by the creek, a flashlight by their sides. Donnie held out his palm. The small pin shone.

‘Close your fist,’ said Duke. Then he reached his hand around it and crushed it hard until the flesh was pierced and his friend cried out.

‘Now do it to me,’ said Duke, clutching his own pin. Donnie wrapped his hand around and squeezed until Duke nodded. They opened their fists and saw the same three cuts where the bird’s beak and wings had penetrated. They pulled the pins free and clasped each other’s bloodied right hands.

‘Loyal to the end,’ said Duke.

‘Loyal to the end,’ said Donnie.