Suder

Chapter 16

So, I’m in this truck and I’ve got an elephant in the back and I’m driving into the Cascade mountain range of Oregon. I’m in the vicinity of Mount Hood and I pass through the little town of Parkdale. I drive about a third of the way up this mountain to Lou’s cabin. The cabin is real big and bare and it’s got no electricity. The water comes out of a hand pump, but it’s inside at least. There are a couple of lanterns and a whole stack of candles. The cabin is filled with stuffed animals — there’re a couple of owls hanging from the ceiling and a deer in the corner and a family of squirrels on the windowsill. It’s raining, so I leave the elephant in the truck and hit the sack. It’s just getting dark.

The next morning the sun is out and the birds are singing and the air is thick with the scent of pine. I get out of bed and scratch and it’s real chilly. I walk out and grab a few logs that are stacked and covered with plastic by the front door. I take the wood and start a fire in the potbelly stove in the middle of the cabin. I heat up some water and wash.

When I’m dressed I go and take the elephant out of the truck. I figure that since he’s new to the cabin I should tie him to a tree. That’s what I do — one end of some rope around an ankle, the other around a tree. I fasten him up and stand there for a second, rubbing his trunk. I put the rest of the hay from the truck down in front of the animal and he looks at me like we both should be aware that more hay is needed. I climb into the truck and drive down to Parkdale.

I walk into this little store and there’s this middle-aged fella with buck teeth and a mile of forehead working there.

“You’re new round here, ain’t you?” he asks, showing his big teeth.

“Yeah, I’m staying up at the Tyler place,” I tell him.

“Uh-hmmmmm.”

I gather some things on the counter — things for cooking, and soap, and like that.

“That it?”

I nod.

He looks at the things on the counter. “Looks like about five dollars’ worth.”

I’ve never done business like this before, but I don’t complain. I pay him and he starts putting the stuff in a bag and I ask him where I can get some hay

“How much you need?”

“I don’t know. How much you need for a horse?”

He rubs his chin. “Maybe a quarter ton for a month.”

“I need two tons.”

His eyebrows raise up. “Two?” He scratches his head. “For that much hay you’ll have to go seventy miles. It’s summer.” He looks at me. “How many horses you got up there?”

“I’m going to need some peanuts, too.” I pause. “Fifty … no, a hundred peanuts.”

“What you got up there? An elephant?” He laughs.

I pick up my groceries and leave and I head back up to the cabin. Off the road is a pretty green rolling pasture and in the middle of the pasture is a barn. The barn doors are open and I can see that it’s full of hay. I drive on back to the cabin.

I tie the rope around the elephant’s neck and start walking through the woods. The elephant is following me pretty closely and I don’t have to tug at him at all. So, I untie the animal and he walks right behind me like a dog and I’m just thrilled. We walk up along this ridge and then down and we’re by a small lake. I stop at the edge, but the elephant just steps on past me and into the water. The beast is having a grand old time, splashing around and blowing out of his snout. I look across the lake and I see a couple of people pointing at us. “Sabu!” I call. “Come on, boy!” And I turn around and start walking away and the animal follows.

Once back at the cabin, I start to blow on my saxophone, but every time I let out a note Sabu lets out a blast from his trunk. I stop and look at him and then I try again. Same thing. So, I go inside and blow and he’s outside and he’s still replying. I put my horn away and I cook up some eggs and bacon. As I’m sitting there eating, I keep thinking about all that hay just sitting there in that barn.

Later, when it’s dark, I’m driving the truck down the road toward the barn full of hay. I get out of the truck and open the gate and I continue down this winding dirt road to the barn with my headlights off. I back the truck up to the open barn doors and, in the moonlight, I start loading the truck with hay. The horses are blowing and snorting and stepping back and forth in their stalls. I finish loading the hay and leave.

When I get back to the cabin I drop a load of hay in front of the elephant. He snatches some up with his trunk and puts it in his mouth. Sabu, his name sounds in my head. I decide to change his name and my eyes turn up to find the stars and the moon. The elephant should have a French name. Renoir. I rub his trunk and he’s chewing and I says, “Renoir, Renoir.” That’s a good name. The name of a painter or something, probably a sissy, but it don’t matter none. Renoir.

The night is real quiet and I sit on the ground and lean back against a tree. Renoir lets out a blast and it echoes through the woods. My head falls back and the stars are real bright and I pull my arms over my chest to get warm. It seems like the night is pressing down on me and my eyes close. I fall asleep.

It was the middle of the night and I was coming out of the bathroom when I heard my name. Ma said my name again and I stepped toward Ma and Daddy’s room and listened.

“It’s not the boy’s fault.”

“My mother may never rest in peace.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed his face down on hers.”

“He was supposed to kiss her,” Ma said. There was the sound of a lamp switch and light came from under the door.

I ran back into my room and listened to the footsteps in the hall. It was Ma and she was coming to my room. I climbed into bed and closed my eyes. Ma came in and sat on the edge of my bed. She placed her hand on my forehead and rolled my face toward her.

“Oh, hello, Ma,” I said.

“Craigie, you were supposed to kiss your grandmother.”

“I know, Ma.”

“What is it?” Martin asked, sitting up in bed.

“Go to sleep!” Ma yelled. She turned to me again. “Craigie, I want you to pray for Grandmama.” She stood up. “Get down here on your knees.”

I got out of bed and onto my knees.

“Now pray!” she commanded.

Then Daddy came in. “Kathy, let the boy get some sleep.”

“He has to pray.”

“Come on, Kathy.”

“Pray!” she screamed at me.

“Dear God,” I said, “please be good to my Grandmama.”

“Tell him to let her in heaven,” Ma said.

“And let her in heaven.”

“Okay,” Daddy said. “Come on, Kathy. Get in bed and go to sleep, Craig.” Daddy took Ma by the arm and ushered her out of the room. I stood up.

“You okay?” Martin asked.

I got into bed. I didn’t say anything. I just got into bed.

In the morning Bud and I were walking by the pond. The grass was wet from a shower the night before and the smell of rain was still floating around. We saw a dog sitting by the pond, a kind of German shepherd mix. Bud whistled and approached the dog. The dog limped into the pond.

“He’s hurt,” Bud said. We stood at the edge of the pond, calling the dog. Bud looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and stepped into the pond. The water was up to his thighs when he reached the dog.

“Have you got him?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Bud pulled the dog through the water and up onto the bank. “That’s a good boy,” Bud said to the dog, examining him. “I can’t see anything wrong with his leg.”

“Maybe he sprained it.”

“Maybe.” Bud looked at me. “He ain’t got no tags. I’m going to keep him.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, and I’ve got a name for him.”

“What?”

“Django.”

“Django? What kind of name is that?”

“Django Reinhardt is the name of a guitar player. A Gypsy.”

The dog’s leg wasn’t bothering him so much as he walked with us back to the house. Bud was soaking wet. Bud told me to run into the kitchen and grab a towel and a couple of biscuits. I got the towel and picked some biscuits from a plate on the stove and ran back outside.

“Give those to the dog,” Bud said, taking the towel. “Your name is Django,” he said to the dog as I held a biscuit up for him.

Then Ma came running out of the kitchen in her coat and sneakers. She ran around the house and out into the street. I shook my head.

“She’ll be all right,” Bud said and he tossed another biscuit to Django. “You have to ask your father if you can keep him.”

“Why?”

“Well, I can’t take him to France with me.”

“Oh.”

“He’s a nice dog, huh?” Bud rubbed Django’s neck and back with the towel.

Daddy stepped out of the kitchen and saw the dog. He looked at me.

“We found him by the pond,” I told him.

Daddy nodded.

“Can we keep him?”

“We’ll see,” he said and walked away.

That night, while we were sitting on the front porch, Django was running all over the front yard.

“He’s a frisky little fella,” Daddy said.

“Hey, Doc,” Bud said, “I’ve got a story for you.”

Daddy sat up, ready to listen.

Bud told the story. “There was this old black man that had a job with the railroad. He was the crossing-tender — he would swing a lantern when the train was coming so people wouldn’t drive across the tracks. Well, there was this accident where the train hit a car. The owner of the car sued the railroad and the only witness was this old black man. At the trial the lawyer questioned that old man up and down, but his story stayed the same and the railroad got off. The railroad’s lawyer was so pleased that he hugged the old man and found him all sweaty. ‘Why are you so sweaty?’ the lawyer wanted to know. And the old man said, ‘I was scared he was going to ask me if that lantern I was swinging was lit.’”

Daddy laughed and so did I. Then there was screaming and McCoy popped out of some bushes across the street with Django right behind him, barking and snapping.

“I guess you can keep him,” Daddy said and sipped his iced tea.

Chapter 17

A light drizzle wakes me and I get up and walk into the cabin. The sun is coming up and I take to fixing some breakfast, bacon and eggs. As I’m sitting at the table eating, my nose picks up a strong smell which is me and I notice that my clothes ain’t offering much warmth. I toss some hay to Renoir and then I drive into Parkdale for a new jacket and some more clothes.

So, I’m in Parkdale in this little clothing store that sells clothes for men, women, and children. I’m in this line that everybody gets in to pay and there’s a little girl behind me and she’s with her mother. The girl must be about eight and she’s hopping mad.

“Mama, I will not wear that dress,” the girl says and the mother is silent. “You can buy all the dresses you want, but they won’t get wore. If they get wore, it’ll be because you put them on.” The child sniffs. “You always pick out my clothes. Why can’t I pick out my own damn clothes.”

Then there’s this loud pop, like flesh against flesh, and the little girl starts bawling something awful. So, her mother hits her again and the girl goes running out of the store. I don’t look back at the mother.

When I’m paying for my things the clerk chuckles and says, “What about a hat?” And he points to this enormous rack filled with cowboy hats and tractor caps. This clerk is very strange; he’s got food all in his mustache and beard and he’s smiling. “Why don’t you buy a hat?”

I’m about to say no when I see a beret. There’s one beret all by itself and I walk over and pick it up. I put it on and I check it out in the mirror and it looks real French. I buy it. I walk outside into the rain and trot to my truck. When I’m about two miles from Parkdale I hear this thumping noise. It’s a steady pounding coming from the back of the truck, so I pull over and stop the engine. After a second or so of quiet the noise starts up again. But the motor is off. I hop out of the truck and walk around back and pull the canvas away. It’s the little girl from the store.

We stare at each other for a few seconds. “What are you doing in here?” I ask and the rain is hitting me harder.

“Riding,” she says. Her eyes are wet.

I drop the canvas and walk back to the cab of the truck. The girl is out and behind me. “Get in the truck,” I says. “I’m taking you back.”

She sits on the ground. “No, you’re not.”

“Just get in the truck.”

She shakes her head and pushes rain off her face.

“Suit yourself.” I climb into the driver’s seat.

“You’re just going to leave me here?”

“Yep.”

“What kind of a monster are you? You’d leave a child sitting in the middle of a muddy road?” She looks up at the sky. “In the rain?”

I don’t say anything. I just start the engine.

She hops up on the running board and screams at me, “I’m pregnant!”

I stop the engine.

“I knew that would get your attention,” she says. “Take me home with you for right now. You can bring me back later. What do you say, sailor?”

I look at her standing there in the rain, her yellow hair starting to mat up. “Get in.” I lean over and open the passenger door and she gets in. I’m driving up the mountain and I look over at her. “How old are you? Seven? Eight?”

“I’m nine, almost nine and a quarter.”

“I see.”

“You been living here long?”

“No.”

“I never seen you is why I asked.” She looks out the window and sighs. “We moved here from John Day just last year.”

“I see.” I sigh.

“I hate it here. All my friends are in John Day.”

“You got a name?”

“Jincy Jessy Jackson.”

“What kind of name is that? Jincy? What’s that short for?”

She looks at me. “Just Jincy. It ain’t short for anything.”

“Jincy, huh?” I pause. “Jincy Jessy Jackson,” I says to myself. It sounds real musical.

“What’s your name?” Jincy asks.

“My name is Craig.” I’m looking straight ahead at the road and the rain is falling harder as we move along the dirt road to the cabin. “This is it.”

Jincy has her face pushed up against the windshield, looking through the rain at the cabin. I stop the truck and we’re out and walking to the door. Renoir is tied to a tree off to the side of the house and he steps forward when we’re close.

Jincy catches sight of Renoir and freezes and then she turns to me and just looks.

“That’s Renoir,” I says.

She looks back at the elephant. “That’s an elephant.”

“Yep.” I look up into the falling rain. “Let’s get inside.”

“You’ve got an elephant,” she says and she’s looking at me with wide eyes. “You got an elephant.”

I step forward and open the door. “Come on.”

She steps up and across the porch and past me into the cabin. She turns back to me. “You’ve got an elephant.”

“Yep.”

“What are you doing with an elephant?”

“Renoir is my pet.”

She’s looking around the cabin. “Not bad.” Jincy walks over and stands beneath a stuffed owl hanging from the ceiling in the corner. She points up. “Former pet?”

“Want something to eat?” I ask and I pull the bacon out of the ice chest. “After we eat, you go back. Okay?”

“No.” She shakes her head.

I stand up straight and look her in the eye and heave a sigh. She starts to pull off her tee-shirt. “What are you doing?” I ask. She pulls it off and turns around and puts her hands against the wall. There are red stripes across her back, welts from where she’s been beaten. I turn away and drop the skillet down on the woodstove. I’m frying bacon and Jincy is still leaning against the wall; she’s crying. She’s there against the wall for a long time and I pick up her shirt and drape it over her shoulder.

“You like eggs and bacon?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She wipes her eyes with her shirt and puts it back on. She’s staring at me. “Are you going to take me back?”

I look away from her for a second. “Eggs and bacon is all I’ve got.”

She sits and I finish cooking and we’re eating. The rain is letting up and the sun is trying to show through the windows. Jincy pushes her plate to the center of the table and gets up and walks to the window. She’s looking outside at Renoir.

“How come you got an elephant?” she asks.

“I won him.”

“How?” She looks back at me.

“It’s a long story.” I pick up the plates.

“You’re really going to let me stay?”

“We’ll see.” I pause. “Who beat you?”

“My mama. She’s crazy. She hits me all the time.” She walks back toward me and points at her mouth. “See that tooth?”

I nod.

“See that chipped place? My mama did that when she hit me with the Lava lamp.”

I push my tongue into my cheek and walk over to the sink and drop the dishes in.

“So, I can stay?” She’s right behind me.

I glance out the window and see that the sun is good and out. “Let’s go for a walk. Want to do that?” I turn and look at her.

She nods. “Can I ride the elephant?”

“I don’t know.” I walk out of the cabin and Jincy is right behind me. “I’m not sure if he’s a riding elephant.” I’m looking at Renoir. Jincy is standing close to me, slightly behind, and Renoir walks to me. I stroke his trunk. “Good boy.”

“Can I touch him?” asks Jincy.

“Go ahead.”

She reaches out and pets Renoir’s nose and she becomes bolder and steps out from behind me. “Oh, he’s so cute,” she says.

I untie Renoir and start off into the woods. Renoir is behind and Jincy trots out in front of me and turns around.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Will you help me get up there?” She’s pointing at Renoir’s back.

I don’t say anything. I just pick her up and place her on the animal’s back and she’s as thrilled as can be.

“What do I hold on to?” she wants to know.

I look at the elephant for a second. “Good question.” Then I push her forward toward Renoir’s head. “Now, lean forward and hold on to his ears.” She grabs the tops of his ears and I turn and walk on. Jincy is doing fine and Renoir doesn’t seem to mind. We walk on to the lake.

While we’re standing there I watch this osprey, a white-breasted fishing bird, pull his wings in and streak down into the water and come up with a fish. “Did you see that?” I ask Jincy.

“Yeah,” she says, her mouth open.

I’m really excited, watching this osprey fly off, his big wings beating. Then there’s a loud high-pitched scream and I see this bald eagle. The osprey drops his fish and the eagle catches it and I’m a little sickened by this. No wonder it’s our national bird.

“Did you see that?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I look back at Jincy on Renoir. “Ain’t that something?”

“What?”

“The way they fly like that.”

She looks up at the eagle. “Yeah.”

There was a hole at the base of one of the walls at the old school. Some bricks were still laying on the ground. Kids used to talk about the green-eyed lady that lived in there, under the floorboards of what was believed to be the cafeteria. Supposedly she would come out at night looking for food because there was nothing left inside. I walked on past the hole and into the sandy playground in back. There was one large tree in the center of the yard, the only shade. I moved toward it. I circled the tree and there was Naomi Watkins. I froze.

“Hello,” Naomi said.

“Hey.” I didn’t look at her. I looked across the playground.

“You going to sit down?” She was staring at me_; I could feel her eyes on me. “Please.”

I sat down beside her. “Hey.”

“You said that.”

I smiled at her. “Sure is hot.”

“Sure is.” She threw back her head and tugged at the collar of her dress. “Do you like me?”

“Yeah.” I was sweating.

“No one likes me, you know.” Her eyes were closed.

“That’s not true. My brother, Martin, likes you.”

“He doesn’t like me. He just wants to … I’m sorry about what they did to you.”

“What?”

“You know.” She looked at her crotch.

“Oh.” I recalled Martin making me touch her down there. I rubbed my finger under my nose and imagined that smell. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was afraid to run.” She closed her eyes again. “They seemed to like me before that.”

I didn’t believe she was afraid. I remembered her smile. “What about when you and Martin were in your daddy’s funeral home?”

She was surprised that I knew.

“I followed Martin.”

“I thought he’d like me if I—”

We were silent for a while. “You’re not very bright,” I said honestly and I looked over at her. Tears were streaming down her face. I wanted to make her feel better, so I decided to confide in her about my mother. “My mother is crazy,” I said.

She stopped crying. “Crazy?”

“Really crazy.” I started pushing my fingers through the sand. “She wears a coat all the time and sneakers and she’s always running around.” I shook my head. “She hates Martin and she won’t leave me alone.”

Naomi looked at me, wide-eyed. “What are you going to do?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Daddy thinks it may be the heat. Bud says she’s just different.”

“Who’s Bud?”

“Bud Powell, the famous piano player. He’s staying with us.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s famous. My daddy told me. They even moved in a piano and Bud plays it. He’s real good.” I paused and closed my eyes. “But my mother scares me. There’s no telling what she’ll do next.” I sniffed.

Naomi put her hand on mine. “Do you really like me?”

I opened my eyes and looked at her. I nodded.

The bathroom window was painted shut. Why, I didn’t know, but it was closed for good. So, it was hot as the devil in the bathroom and you made a point of getting in and out as quickly as possible during the afternoon hours. I was sitting on the toilet, perspiring profusely. The afternoon sun was pounding on the window and then the door opened. It was Ma.

“Don’t get up,” she said.

I watched as she snatched the roll of toilet tissue and dashed out. I sat there, stunned, for some time, looking around for paper. Perspiration was pouring out of me. I started yelling for help. “Daddy! Martin! Bud! Somebody!”

Bud poked his head into the bathroom. “What’s up?”

“Ma came in and took the toilet tissue.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Oh, yeah?” He chuckled.

“I need some toilet tissue,” I pleaded.

“Right.” He backed out and came back with a box of Kleenex. “Here,” he said, tossing it to me.

I finished up and walked out into the front yard and there was Ma. She had draped toilet paper from one oak tree to another at one side of the yard. She sprinted across the yard and through the tissue, striking it with her chest, her arms thrown back. She put up more tissue and did it again. Then again, like winning races. I went back inside. I looked at Bud and then I turned and looked back through the screen door. There were some people standing across the street and they were laughing. I got really upset and I ran back outside. I grabbed Ma’s coat and started yelling, “What’s wrong with you?! Why do you have to be this way?!”

Ma glared at me and then she hauled off and slapped me across the face. She looked over at Daddy, who had just stepped out of his office. Then she looked back at me and started trembling. She ran off, around the house.

Daddy stepped over to me and dropped a hand on my shoulder. He was looking in the direction that Ma had run. He rubbed my head and said, “It’s all right.”

Chapter 18

A couple of days go by and time is slipping past me like a well-hit ball on plastic grass. Three days of sun and heat and a dwindling mound of hay in front of Renoir. So, one night I drive down the road to that barn full of hay and Jincy is with me and it’s raining.

“Where are we going?” Jincy wants to know.

“Over there.” I’m pointing out across the field at the barn.

“What for?”

“Hay.” I stop the truck and get out and open the gate. I turn off the headlights and approach the barn.

“Why’d you turn the lights off?” Jincy asks.

I look at her. “It ain’t my hay.”

“You mean you’re stealing it?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yes.”

Jincy says nothing. I back the truck up to the open barn doors and the rain is falling harder. We get out and we’re in the barn and the barn is full of the sound of water hitting the tin roof. I grab a pitchfork and start tossing hay into the back of the truck and Jincy’s just staring at me.

“What is it?” I ask, and when she doesn’t say anything, I says, “Help me out here.”

Jincy grabs another fork and starts throwing hay into the truck and then she stops. She looks up at the rafters and then outside at the night and says, “This is weird. I’m in a strange barn, shoveling hay for an elephant that belongs to a nigger.”

I stop tossing hay and I look at her. She’s looking at me, too, and we’re silent for a spell. I start tossing hay again and soon she is, also.

The morning was almost cool, with a light drizzle and a nice breeze. Ma was running, her first attempt to circle the town, and I was on my bicycle, riding along behind her. Behind me was McCoy in his white Cadillac with another man. Ma kept a good pace for about two miles, but then she began to fall off. By the fifth mile Ma was just falling forward into each step. Then she fell. I got off my bike and ran to her. She was bleeding from both knees and crying.

“I can’t make it,” she said through her tears.

“Come on, Ma.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s go home.”

McCoy and the other white man were out of the car and beside us. “Well, I guess the Lord wasn’t with you this time, Mrs. Suder,” said McCoy. He smiled at the other man and they turned away. “Crazy nigger-woman,” McCoy said to the man and laughed.

I looked at Ma and I could tell that she had also heard what McCoy had said. I stood up and helped my mother to her feet. We watched the big white car pull away. “Let’s go,” I said.

Ma took a few steps and then she looked back. She stared angrily at the white car, which was small in the distance.

“Ma?”

“I’m coming,” she said softly.

When Ma and I got home, Daddy was standing at the screen door, looking out. He opened the door and Ma walked past him to the sofa. Daddy looked at me and questioned me with his eyes. I told Daddy about what McCoy had said, that he had called Ma a crazy nigger-woman. Daddy scratched his chin and made a face. He walked over to Ma and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Part of your problem is you don’t know to pace yourself. I saw the way you went tearing off. You’ve got to take it slow, slow and steady.” Tears were rolling down Ma’s cheeks. Daddy looked at me. “Come on, Craig,” he said, walking to the door.

“Where’re we going?” I asked.

“The store.”

“For what?”

“Sneakers.” He looked back at Ma. “Sneakers.”

It is not raining in the morning and I’m outside with the chain saw, cutting up wood for cooking, and this car pulls up the drive. I turn off the saw and step toward the car and it’s Lou Tyler.

“Howdy, there,” Lou yells through the window and he opens the door and gets out.

“Hey,” I says.

And he’s walking toward me. “Just thought I’d come and see how you’re doing. Feeling any better?”

“Some.” I take his hand and shake it.

“Well, you’re looking better.” He gazes past me at the cabin. “How do you like the place?”

“I like it.”

He walks past me toward the cabin. “Season’s going okay,” he says without looking at me and then Renoir steps from around the side of the house. Lou freezes and stares at the elephant and I step up beside him. He turns to me.

“That’s Renoir,” I says.

He looks again at Renoir. “An elephant,” he says more to himself than to me and he looks at me and a smile comes across his face. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this.” He steps toward Renoir. “A dream come true.”

“What?”

“I can’t wait to stuff this sucker.”

I step in between Lou and Renoir. “Renoir ain’t for stuffing.”

“You mean he ain’t for me?”

I shake my head.

Lou looks down at the ground and scratches his forehead and kicks some dirt. He’s looking back at me and he says, “If he dies, you’ll let me know?”

I’m silent.

“You’re pretty attached to this animal, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Lou looks at the elephant again. “You … you mind telling me how you happen to have this thing?”

“I won him in a bet.”

“A bet.” He looks up at the sky and then around at the woods. “It must cost you a fortune to feed this thing.”

“No.”

“Oh.” He looks at Renoir. “Well, if he does—”

“I’ll let you know.” I stroke Renoir’s trunk. “You want to come inside?”

“Yeah.” He stops. “I forgot something. Come and give me a hand.” He walks back to the car and I’m following him. “I don’t want to leave these in the trunk; they might stink the car up.”

“What is it?” I ask.

He opens the trunk. “Road kills.”

I stop and I turn around and walk back to the cabin. I watch him from the porch as he pulls a few dead dogs and cats out and puts them on the ground by a tree. He’s slapping his hands clean as he walks toward the cabin.

“That’s got it,” he says. “You got any coffee?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” He steps up onto the porch.

“What about some bacon and eggs?” I open the door and hold it for Lou.

He steps inside and there’s Jincy putting wood in the fire to cook lunch — eggs and bacon. Lou is still.

“This is Jincy,” I says. “Jincy, this here is Lou.”

Lou smiles at Jincy and turns to me with a questioning expression. He’s looking around the cabin. “So, you like it here pretty much, do you?”

I nod.

“Where’s your mother, little girl?” Lou asks.

“Dead.”

“Where’s your daddy?”

“Jail.”

Lou looks at me. “Who is she?”

I look at Jincy and then at Lou. “My daughter.” Lou is real puzzled. “I adopted her,” I tell him.

Lou frowns and then he looks at the stuffed animals about the cabin. “Thelma asked me if I knew where you were. I told her you were scouting the farm teams. I told her I’d tell you to call her.” He pauses. “Peter misses you.”

“Yeah, well, I miss him.”

Jincy is staring at me.

“What about them eggs?” I ask and pull the skillet down and drop it on the stove.

Lou walks to the window and looks out at Renoir and then he turns back to Jincy. “Your mama’s dead?”

“As a doornail.”

Lou straightens up and tilts his head. “And your old man’s in the slammer?”

“Last I heard.”

Lou looks back out the window. “I don’t believe you’ve got an elephant.” He sighs.

Lou’s in the cabin taking a nap and Jincy is outside with a stick, pulling mud from between Renoir’s toes, and I’m heading out for a walk. The late-afternoon sun is hot, but I can’t really feel it until I’m by the lake. I’m standing by the water and there’s that osprey flying real high and then he takes his wings in and plunges down into the water and comes out with a fish.

“Pandion haliaetus,” comes a voice from behind me. I turn to the voice and it’s a short man, stocky, with glasses. He steps toward me. “Hello there.”

“Hey,” I says.

He points to the osprey. “Pandion haliaetus.”

I frown. “Osprey,” I says, and just like that, there’s that bald eagle screaming and scaring the osprey and stealing the fish.

“Haliaeetus leucocephalus,” he says, pointing at the eagle.

“Bald eagle,” I says.

“I’m Richard Beckwith.” He shoves his hand out.

“Craig Suder.” I’m shaking his hand and noticing that his glasses seem to be a quarter-inch thick.

He tilts his head. “Craig Suder, the ballplayer?”

I look out over the water. “This sure is a pretty place. This lake got a name?”

“Yeah, this is Ezra Pond.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“I’m from Oregon State.” He smiles. “I teach zoology. You are the ballplayer, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I look at his eyes and he nods and I says, “I’m on vacation.”

“Me, too.”

Well, this guy takes to walking with me and he’s talking about the weather and wildflowers and just generally making noise. And I figure I’ve got to shake him if I’m going to see any birds that ain’t flying away. And this fella insists on calling everything by its Latin name, which annoys me to no small degree, and I’m making a point of correcting him.

“Lepus sylvilagus,” he says.

And I says, “Rabbit.”

“Perisoreus canadensis.”

“Gray jay.”

Finally, we come to a fork in the trail and he tells me he’s got to go left and I tell him I’ve got to go right. There’s a grouse waddling along in front of us and I’m waiting and Beckwith says, “Bonasa umbellus.”

“Grouse.”

“How do you know it was this dog?” Bud asked Mr. Simpson, the next-door neighbor.

“I saw him,” said Mr. Simpson. “I saw that mutt digging in my garden.” He pointed at Django.

“I’m sorry,” Bud said, “but you should have a fence around your garden.”

“You’re telling me what I should have in my own yard?” Mr. Simpson was really mad. “You’d better keep that dog out of my garden.” He paused. “Who are you?”

I got down on my knees and stroked Django’s head. “We’re sorry, Mr. Simpson,” I said.

“Look, you’ve upset the boy,” Bud said.

Mr. Simpson pointed again at the dog. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you’d better keep that dog out of my garden. If I catch him in there again, I’ll shoot him, so help me God.” He turned and marched away.

Bud looked down at me. “I guess we’re going to have to tie Django up.”

“Tie him up?”

“I’m sorry, Bird.”

We found some rope and tied Django to a tree in the backyard. Django barked and ran several times to the rope’s limit and was snatched back violently.

“He won’t hurt himself, will he?” I asked.

“No, but he’s going to be upset for a while.” Bud looked at the ground by his feet and kicked some grass. “Damn.”

“It’s not fair,” I said.

“What’s not?”

“Why does he have to be tied up? Why can’t we just let him run around?”

Bud didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked into the house. Django barked and pulled at the rope.

I walk on back to the cabin and as I get close I hear screaming. I run and there’s Jincy standing between Lou and Renoir, screaming. Lou’s got the chain saw in his hands and he’s trying to get around the girl to the elephant.

“Lou!” I shout, running to him.

He turns the saw off. “Shit.”

Jincy runs to me. “He was going to kill Renoir.”

I’m looking at Lou.

“You don’t understand,” Lou says. “I have to have that animal. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I need this animal.”

“Give me the saw,” I says.

“You’re really fond of him.” He looks at Renoir.

“The saw,” I repeat.

He hands it over and rubs his hands together nervously. He looks at me with wet eyes.

“Let’s eat dinner,” I says.

Eggs and bacon.

Night comes and we all go to bed, but I don’t sleep. I’m lying there watching Lou and he’s lying there watching me watch him. Every time Lou sits up, I sit up.

In the morning Lou is in his car. “I just can’t be trusted around that elephant. Hurry up and get better.”

“Okay,” I says.

He’s looking at Renoir and then he turns his eyes to me. “See ya.”

“I’ll call you if he dies.”

Chapter 19

So, a couple of days later I’m in Parkdale and I’m in the little store buying eggs and bacon. There are some fellas standing around and I hear their conversation.

“I tell you,” says a large man in overalls, “the shit I found in the woods wasn’t dropped by no horse.” He pauses. “Nor cow.”

Another man chuckles. “What do you think it was, Justin? Bigfoot?”

Then the clerk says, “Some people was in here a week or so ago claiming they seen an elephant by the lake.”

“An elephant?” The second man laughs and pushes the brim of his tractor cap up.

“An elephant, huh?” questions the large man and he hooks his thumbs around the straps of his overalls and rocks back and forth on his heels. “This might have been elephant shit.”

“An elephant would have left tracks,” the second man says.

The large man tilts his head. “Yeah, but I wasn’t looking for elephant tracks.”

“This is it?” the clerk asks me, pulling the things on the counter toward him. “Looks like five bucks to me.” I pay him and he’s putting the things in a bag. He turns to the two men. “So, what’re you going to do, Justin?”

“I’m going to hunt down whatever it is and shoot it,” says the large man.

I pick up the bag and as I’m passing through the doorway I bump into a real thin fella with dark glasses and a badge. He gives me a real hard look and I head on outside. I glance back in and see the badged man talking to the clerk and I can tell they’re discussing me. I walk to the truck and I put the groceries on the seat beside me and, as I’m turning the key, a long thin hand slaps over the lowered window.

“Wanna turn off the motor?” asks the thin man with the badge. I shut down the engine. “I’m Sheriff—” He stops as the engine coughs. “I’m Sheriff Prager.”

I nod. “I’m Craig Suder.”

“You’re black.”

I don’t know what to say to him.

He smiles. “We don’t get many blacks around these parts.”

“Well, I’m staying at the Tyler place.” I look ahead through the windshield.

Prager thumbs his dark glasses up his nose and spits on the ground. “Gerald Sims tells me you were asking him about some hay.”

“I was thinking of getting a couple of horses, but I decided against it.”

“Hmmmmm.” He looks at me. “The reason I ask is because somebody’s been stealing hay from Michael Dobbs.”

“Oh.”

“Just asking.” He looks up at the sun. “I might just come up and pay you a little visit one day.” He smiles.

I nod and I reach to turn the key.

“One more thing,” says Prager.

“Yeah?”

“There’s a little girl lost around here.”

“Is she black?”

Prager looks at me. “Why, no.” He scratches his head. “You might keep an eye out.”

“Sure.”

He slaps the truck and walks away.

I pull the cord and the chain saw revs up and I push the blade against the north wall of the cabin. This wall is without windows and the saw churns through. I hear Jincy screaming and she runs out of the cabin and stares at me, panting.

“What are you doing?” she asks above the sound of the saw.

I stop the saw.

“What are you doing?” she repeats.

“Cutting.”

“What?”

“The wall.”

“Why?”

“So Renoir can get into the house.”

Jincy’s eyes light up. “Really?”

I nod and then I start the saw up again. She says something and I turn the machine off once more.

“Why?”

“I heard some people in town say they’re going to shoot him.”

Jincy is silent. I look at her for a while and I pull the cord again and start cutting. As I’m cutting I look over and see Jincy stroking Renoir’s trunk. I cut out a large section of wall and rig up some hinges at the bottom and with a couple of pulleys we’ve a drawbridge-type door for the elephant.

Inside, Jincy and I move all of our things to the south side of the cabin. I pile hay in the front corner of the elephant’s side and we bring Renoir inside. Jincy is just as excited as she can be, but I’m having second thoughts because this animal has a smell to suit his size.

“I don’t know,” I says, “he may have to stay outside.”

“Why?”

“He smells pretty strong, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, but we can’t let him stay out there. They’ll shoot him.” She runs over to Renoir and hugs his trunk.

“He stinks something fierce.”

“I’ll wash him three times a day.”

I look at her for a second. I don’t know that three baths won’t keep the smell away. “Okay.”

Daddy went running with Ma in the evening. It was cooler then. Bud and I were sitting on the porch and Martin came out.

“Sure is close out here,” Martin said, pulling the front of his shirt away from his body.

“Yeah, it’s a hot one,” Bud agreed.

Martin looked at me. “I think that dog needs some water.”

Bud was up and to the door. “I’ll take care of it,” he said and entered the house.

“How do you like Django?” I asked Martin.

“Stupid name.” Martin looked up and down the street. “Is Daddy really out there running with her?”

“Yeah.” I paused. “It’s not a stupid name.”

“Out there running. I don’t believe it. This is crazy.”

Daddy and Ma came into sight walking up the street and then they broke into a trot the rest of the way to the porch. Ma fell up the stairs and through the front door and Daddy sat on the steps. He was wet and breathing hard. “Man, is it hot,” Daddy said, wiping his face with his shirt.

Bud came through the screen door. “Doc! How you making it?”

“I’m making it,” Daddy answered.

“I think you’re crazy to be running in this heat,” Bud said.

“Me, too,” Martin said.

“Maybe,” Daddy said.

Bud sat in the rocker. “How’s she coming?”

“She’s coming. She may have to walk some of the way. She ran about seven miles.”

“She’s crazy,” Martin snapped.

Daddy looked at Martin and gave him a pat on the leg.

“By the way, Doc,” Bud began, “I’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks. I’ve booked passage on a freighter to England.”

Daddy looked up at Bud. “Well, good for you.”

Bud looked at me and smiled. “How about that, Bird? From there I’ll go to France.”

I didn’t say anything. I scratched my arm where a mosquito had bitten me and then Django came running onto the porch. “Hey,” I said, “how did you get loose?” I looked at Bud.

“Better go tie him up,” Daddy said, “or Mr. Simpson will shoot him.”

I got up and walked Django around to the backyard. I grabbed the rope and looked at the end of it. It hadn’t been gnawed through. I looked at Django and wondered how he’d got loose. I didn’t want to tie him up, but I did. I walked back to the front wondering just how the dog had got free.

Daddy and Martin were still on the porch. Martin was upset. “Now everybody’s going to think you’re crazy, too.”

“Maybe,” Daddy said.

“Do you have to do this?”

Daddy looked at Martin. “No.”

“Then why?” Martin was almost crying.

Daddy looked up thoughtfully and then his eyes found me. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “How’s the dog?”

“Tied up.”

“Shame you’ve got to keep him tied, but Mr. Simpson will shoot him.” Daddy groaned and stood. He placed his fist in the small of his back and stretched. “Hot, hot, hot,” he said and walked into the house.

The next morning I leave Jincy to bathe Renoir and I walk to the lake. So, I’m sitting on a rock and I’m watching this eagle gliding on flat wings and Beckwith shows up.

“What are you looking at?” the zoologist asks.

I point up at the bird.

“Oh, Haliaeetus leucocephalus,” he says, sitting beside me.

“Bald eagle.”

“Pretty amazing, eh?”

I look at him and hoist up my eyebrows.

“The flight,” he says.

I nod.

“You know, birds don’t just flap their wings up and down.”

“No?”

“No. High-speed photography shows that they move their wings in figure eights. So, they push themselves through the air very much as a propeller pushes a boat through water.” He pulls a chocolate bar from his daypack and offers me some.

I shake my head.

“Yeah, birds are amazing.” He takes another bite of chocolate and then points across the lake. “Odocoileus hemionus.”

“Deer,” I says under my breath.

“They’re hot, too.”

“Hmmmm?”

“Birds, they’re hot. They’ve got high body temperatures — one hundred and five degrees sometimes. Hot, just like any engine powerful enough to fly.” What he’s saying is fascinating. “They’ve got very flexible bodies.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“More vertebrae than any other animal.”

“You don’t say.”

“More than giraffes, even.”

“Ain’t that something.” There’s a pause. “I wish I could fly.”

He chuckles. “Wishes, wishes.”

“I think I will.”

Beckwith laughs harder and he stands up. “I like you,” he says and starts away. “I’ll see you later.”

I don’t say anything and I look up and there’s an osprey slowly beating his wings across the lake.

I walk back to the cabin a different way and I get a little lost until I come out onto the highway. There’s a car parked on the road and two fellas with binoculars are scanning the area.

“Hello there,” says one of the men.

“Hey.”

“Have you seen a little girl?”

“A little girl?”

“Yes, a runaway.”

“No.” I walk on past them.

“Keep your eyes open, all right?”

I turn back to face them and nod. I walk on back to the cabin.

When Daddy wasn’t in his office he was with Ma, running with her, helping her train. Martin was annoyed; he didn’t understand. I thought I understood, but I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that Ma seemed closer to Daddy. She even seemed less abusive to Martin. Every morning and every night Daddy and Ma went running.

Chapter 20

I decide that flying is a distinct possibility and that being a bird is well worth my while. I’ve pretty much given up on the saxophone — it hurts Jincy’s ears and starts Renoir in a screaming fit. One day I’m sitting in front of the cabin and I’m watching the gray jays.

“What are you thinking about?” Jincy asks, sitting down beside me. Renoir is munching hay.

“Flying,” I says. “I’m gonna fly.”

“Where to?”

“I just want to fly.”

Jincy is silent for a spell. “You mean fly in an airplane, right?”

“No,” I tell her. “I mean fly like a bird.”

“How?” Her eyes are wide and curious.

“I figure I’ll make some wings and, in general, act like a bird.”

“Like how?”

“I plan to raise my body temperature and loosen up my neck and eat worms.”

Jincy frowns. “Eat worms?”

“Yeah.” I pause. “I figure I’ll make wings and step off Willet Rock.”

“Willet Rock?”

“Yeah, you can see it from this side of the lake, way up. I guess it’s about two thousand feet. You’ve got to go around the mountain to get to it because it’s on the steep face.”

“Two thousand feet?” Jincy looks over at the peak of the nearby mountain. “I don’t think you should try it.”

I don’t say anything and then I hear a car coming. “Quick,” I bark, “get Renoir into the house.” I run into the cabin and lower the wall and Jincy steps inside with the elephant. I pull up the wall and kick his hay around and this pickup pulls up with two fellas.

“Howdy,” says the driver. Both men are out of the truck. They’re rangers.

“Hey,” I greet them. “What can I do for you?”

“This is going to sound crazy,” says the one who was driving, looking at his partner and smiling, “but we’re up here looking for an elephant.”

“An elephant?” I question.

“Yeah,” says the second man, chuckling. “Some folks claim they seen an elephant up here.”

“You mean an elephant with a trunk, like in a circus and all?”

The driver laughs. “Yeah.”

And I laugh loud and then Renoir gives a blast from his snout.

“What was that?” asks the driver.

“Stereo,” I tell him. Then I yell back at the cabin, “You want to turn that down in there?!”

The two men look at each other and the driver shrugs his shoulders. “Well, if you see anything …,” the driver says and stops. “Probably just a moose way off track. It ain’t enough that everybody’s running around seeing Bigfoot, we got to have an elephant.” They get back into their truck. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother,” I tell him and they leave and I go back into the cabin to check on Renoir.

That night I come back from my walk and Renoir ain’t outside and when I step into the cabin he ain’t there. Jincy’s in the cabin, sitting at the table, drawing pictures of Renoir.

“Where’s Renoir?” I ask.

“Outside,” she says without looking up.

“No, he’s not.”

“Sure he is,” she says, standing and walking to the window. She looks outside and then at me. “He was out there.”

We go outside with a couple of lanterns and we can see Renoir’s tracks. They’re real deep because the dirt drive is still wet from the last rain. We follow them for about three miles and I get real nervous because it looks like Renoir has gone into town. We don’t go back to get the truck as we’re already halfway to Parkdale.

Jincy is very upset, almost crying. “I hope Rennie doesn’t get shot.”

We walk on through the darkness, swinging our lanterns and whistling for Renoir. Finally we find him behind a split-level and he’s in a duck pond.

“Are you sure it’s Rennie?”

I call him and Jincy calls him, but he won’t come. I end up stepping into the water and leading him out by one of his ears. Then we’re walking through backyards and dogs are barking at us and an occasional light snaps on. Jincy is riding on top of Renoir and we make our way back to the road. A car comes up behind us and Jincy is becoming hysterical. It turns out to be Beckwith.

Beckwith stops his car and he walks around to me and he looks at Renoir. “Loxodonta africana,” he says. He looks at me. “You’ve got a Loxodonta africana.”

“Elephant.”

“What are you doing with a Loxodonta africana?”

But I’m just walking away and leading Renoir home, muttering, “Elephant.”

Beckwith gets into his car and drives away and he’s at the cabin waiting when we arrive. “Now, tell me what you’re doing with a Loxodonta africana.”

“He’s a pet,” I tell him.

Beckwith walks around the elephant, examining him closely. “He’s a fine one.”

Jincy and I are paying Beckwith little attention and I walk into the house and lower the wall while Jincy waits with Renoir.

“You keep him inside?” Beckwith asks as Jincy walks the animal over the wall.

Beckwith is standing outside and I say goodnight and pull up the wall.

The next night, I stepped out into the backyard and found Django gone. He had been untied. I ran up to my room and yelled at Martin, “Why did you untie the dog?!”

“I didn’t.”

I believed him and I ran back outside. “Djanjo!” I called. “Django!”

Then Martin stepped outside. “You’d better find him before bang! bang!” He held his hands up like he was holding a rifle.

“Django!” I walked next door into Mr. Simpson’s yard. The dog wasn’t there. At least he wasn’t in Mr. Simpson’s garden. He wasn’t to be found about the neighborhood. Finally I was at the pond and Django was in it. “Come here,” I called. But the dog wouldn’t come. I sat on the grass for a time while Django swam around. The moon was full, offering some light. Then I stepped into the pond after the dog. The water was almost to my chest. I pulled the dog out. I don’t know what came over me, but I took a shortcut through Mr. Simpson’s backyard. Mr. Simpson’s kitchen light came on and I fell to the ground. I held Django’s mouth closed. Someone stepped up to the screen door and then moved away. The light went off and I ran the rest of the way. I tied Django up and walked into the house.

“You’re wet,” Daddy said, standing in the kitchen with a glass of iced tea in his hand.

“I had to go into the pond for Django.”

He sipped his tea and pulled back the curtain to look into the yard. “Your mother’s coming right along.” He sipped his tea. “She might just do it.” He looked at me. “Why don’t you get cleaned up?”

“Daddy, why are you running with Ma?”

“Let’s say I don’t want her to run alone.”

The next morning Jincy and Renoir are behind me and we’re walking through the woods. The sun is up and bright.

“Shake that salty bacon,” Jincy says.

And I look back. “What are you saying?”

“I said, shake that salty bacon.” And she points at my backside.

I get real embarrassed and stop. “You walk in front of me.”

“Why? I like watching it.”

“Just go on.”

Jincy walks on in front of me and I’m watching the sky and thinking about flying.

“You still gonna fly?” Jincy asks without looking back.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think you should. I don’t want you to.”

I don’t say anything.

“Why?”

“I want to be free,” I tell her.

“Free?”

“Uh-huh.”

We walk on in silence and when we get near the lake Jincy drops to her hands and knees and starts raking at the ground with her fingers.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Digging worms,” she says, not stopping.

“Why?”

Still digging: “For you to eat. You want to be free, don’t you?”

I stand over her for a minute and then I’m on my knees, helping her.

She hands me a worm. “Eat it.”

I take it and I tilt my head back and let it slide down my throat and it wiggles as it goes down. Jincy is smiling and crying at the same time. I pull her to me and hug her and she cries harder.

Naomi and I were sitting beneath the big tree in the old school yard. It was muggy and there were bad-looking storm clouds in the distance. Across the yard, sitting under a basketball goal, was Virgil Wallace. Virgil was pulling on himself.

“Look at that waterhead over there.” Naomi pointed at Virgil. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s-” I didn’t know if I should tell her.

“What?”

“He’s pulling on himself.” She had a questioning expression. “You know.” I moved my hand up and down over my middle.

She giggled. Then she looked up into the tree. “I saw your mother and father last night.”

I didn’t say anything.

“They were running. Is your daddy going crazy, too?”

“No,” I snapped. I knew what question was coming. “He’s just trying to help Ma.”

“What’s all the running for?”

“My mother wants to run around Fayetteville.”

Naomi laughed.

“It’s not funny!” I shouted. “Why are you laughing? Your daddy uses caskets over and over again and cuts off dead people’s hair.”

She stopped laughing. “He does not.”

“He does. I found dirt on his caskets.”

Naomi was silent. She looked down at her knees. “He does not,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry.”

She looked at me. “Do you like me?”

“I told you, yes.”

“I like you, too.” And she reached for my hand and grabbed my little finger and bent it back. It hurt. “Take it back,” she said, applying pressure. “Say it isn’t so. Say my daddy doesn’t do that.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. I was in a great deal of pain. “He doesn’t use caskets over.”

“Or cut off dead people’s hair?”

“Or cut off dead people’s hair.”

She gave my finger one last twist and I fell over, my head landing in her lap. I was looking up at her. She lowered her head and placed her lips against mine. My eyes were wide open and I could see her closed eyes and her smooth skin. Her tongue was darting in and out of my mouth. I didn’t kiss back — I didn’t know how — but I didn’t resist. Then a shadow fell over my face. I thought it might be clouds, but there was something odd. So, I pushed Naomi’s face away and I looked up and saw Virgil Wallace. He was standing over us, his penis in his hand. Naomi screamed and she fell back against the tree when she tried to get up. I got up and pulled her into standing. We ran.

Even with the three baths a day that Renoir gets from Jincy, the cabin smells. Renoir ain’t house-trained and I decide to go into town for some newspapers. There are several newspaper-vending machines in Parkdale and I start off at one end of town emptying all the papers into the truck. Then at the fourth machine I put my dime in and I look beside me and there’s skinny Sheriff Prager. I open the machine and pull out one paper and smile at him.

“Howdy,” he says.

“Hey.”

“Nice day.” He’s looking up at the sunny sky.

“Uh-huh.”

“How’re things?” He pushes his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Just fine, just fine.”

“Sure is nice weather.”

“Sure is.”

“I know I asked you before, but have you seen a little girl?”

“No.”

“Tell me, what do you do with yourself up there?”

“I walk and relax and pretty soon I’m going to fly off Willet Rock.”

He’s silent for a second and then he laughs and slaps my back. “You’re all right,” he says and starts away and then he stops. “You seen anything like an elephant up there?”

“Elephant?”

“Never mind.” He pauses. “Fly off Willet Rock”-he laughs—“that’s rich.” He walks away.

I put another dime in the machine and take the rest of the papers.

Chapter 21

So, I’m putting newspaper on the floor on Renoir’s side of the cabin and Jincy is helping me. I notice a story on an inside page. The headline reads: MANAGER DIES ON RURAL ROAD. The story says that Lou Tyler died after being hit by a car and there’s a quote from the driver of the car that hit him: “I didn’t see him until it was too late. I came around the curve and there he was, holding that dog in his arms.” I fall from my knees to my butt and sit silently.

“What’s wrong?” Jincy asks.

“Nothing.”

Jincy looks at the paper in front of me. “Lou Tyler,” she says. “Ain’t that the guy who—”

I nod.

“He was weird.”

I’m still silent.

“Are you going to leave here?” she asks.

I look at her. “Did your mother hate you?”

“Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Jincy stands and starts putting wood into the stove and she’s looking back at me through her yellow hair. “I love you.”

And there’s this long silence and I’m looking at her and then I start spreading the papers again. She cooks lunch. Bacon and eggs.

Ma tried to run around the town again. This time she made it about halfway. Daddy was with her and I don’t think he could have run much farther either. I was behind them, riding my bicycle. They just stopped. Ma bent over and rested her hands on her knees. Daddy’s hands were on his hips and he was breathing hard. Then McCoy drove by, out of the blue. So much for the morning.

Daddy was annoyed greatly by the morning’s failure. He said that more practice was needed. Instead of coffee, he had iced tea at breakfast and then he went to his office. Martin left the table and it was just Ma and me.

“Almost,” I said. Bud started playing the piano in the other room.

Ma nodded. “You’re a good boy, Craigie.” She looked past me, through the screen door. “Like your daddy.”

I liked that she had said that. “I love you, Ma.”

She seemed not to hear me and then she looked at me and tilted her head. She smiled. “Love,” she said. She laughed.

I didn’t know what to make of her. It didn’t seem as though she was laughing at me. I giggled nervously.

Ma stopped and stared at me. “What are you laughing at?”

I didn’t know what to say. I became very frightened. I pushed against the back of my chair.

Ma leaned forward, putting her arms on the table. “What is love?” she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

She shrugged her shoulders, too, and laughed loudly. She kept on shrugging her shoulders and laughing. She didn’t notice when I got up and walked out.

Birds have got really flexible necks. A bird can touch any part of his body with his beak, and so I’m doing neck exercises. I’m touching my nose to my knees and I’m pulling my feet to my face and I’m rubbing my nose on my shoulder, but it’s clear that there are spots I will never touch. Perhaps with a lot of exercise I will be able to touch my nose to my pecker. That’s my goal.

Birds have got really high body temperatures. The only way I can figure to raise my temperature is by running a fever. So, I’m trying to catch a cold. The nights are chilly, so I try sleeping naked without a fire and with the wall down. Jincy’s all bundled up in blankets. It doesn’t work. All I get is a sore back.

“The water ain’t cold enough,” Jincy says.

I’m in the lake, Ezra Pond, splashing around early in the morning. “It’s cold,” I tell her and I duck down under the water and come back up.

“Not cold enough.” She’s at the edge, shaking her hand in the water. “You can’t catch a cold in this. Go out some more.”

I swim on out a ways and the water is a little cooler. Renoir leaves Jincy’s side and steps into the lake and he takes to rolling over and shooting water out of his nose.

“Look!” Jincy is pointing up.

I look up in time to see the osprey pulling his wings in to dive and he’s diving at me. I figure he thinks I’m an extraordinary catch and I duck down under the water. He hits the water and heads up and I make my way quickly out of the water. We’re walking back to the cabin.

“I don’t think it worked,” Jincy says. She’s behind me.

I’m naked, cold, and wet. “Give it a chance,” I says. “A cold wouldn’t show up right away.”

“Shake that salty bacon.” She’s looking at my bare butt.

I stop. “Go on.”

“What?”

“Walk in front of me.”

“Gosh,” she says and walks on. “I like looking at it.”

As we’re walking I begin to think about wings. I’ll need wings to fly, but what to make them out of and how? I decide to collect feathers, and it’s unfortunate, but feathers only come from birds. So, when we’re back at the cabin I sit down at the table and start sketching my wings. Jincy’s on the other side of the cabin giving Renoir his morning bath.

“Are you hungry?” Jincy asks, dipping the rag into the bucket of soapy water.

“I’ll get some wood,” I says and get up. I slip into my trousers and step outside. My arms are full of wood and I’m standing up and I feel something poking me in the back. I look over my shoulder and it’s Sid Willis.

“Hello, Craig,” Sid says.

I don’t say anything.

“I want my money.” He pushes the barrel of the pistol into my back. “In the house.”

I open the door and step in and Sid is behind me and when he sees the elephant he stops dead in his tracks. Jincy stands up and takes a couple of steps back. I drop the wood and Sid doesn’t move. Sid’s eyes are locked on Renoir and he doesn’t notice me as I take the gun from him.

“Who is he?” Jincy asks once I’ve got the gun.

“He’s crazy,” I tell her. “He wants to kill me.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Tie him up.” I grab a length of rope and tie his hands behind his back. I walk Sid over to a chair near the stove and sit him down and his eyes are still locked on Renoir.

“Now what?” Jincy asks.

“I don’t know.” I look at her. “I don’t know.” I’m tying Sid to the chair. “We just keep him tied up.”

Sid is still looking at Renoir. Then he snaps to and finds himself tied up and struggles with the ropes. “What is this?” He tries to stand up and the chair comes with him. “What’s that?” He points at Renoir with his head.

“That’s an elephant,” I says.

“Why?”

I’m puzzled and I’m looking at Renoir. “‘Cause he ain’t a dog.”

“Untie me.” Sid sees Jincy. “Who’s she?”

“This is Jincy.”

“Untie me.”

“I can’t do that, Sid.”

“I just want my money.”

“I’m sorry,” I says and I’m putting wood into the stove. “I don’t trust you. If I untie you, you’ll shoot me.”

“I swear to God I won’t,” he says. “I just want my money.” He looks at the elephant again. “Just what are you doing with this thing?”

I turn to Jincy. “You want to fix up some breakfast?”

“Okay.” She starts picking the wood off the floor. “Really, we’re just going to leave him tied up?”

I nod. “Fix some breakfast for him, too.”

Jincy cooks breakfast. Eggs and bacon.

“I don’t want it,” Sid says, turning his face from the forkful of eggs that Jincy is holding.

“He won’t eat,” Jincy complains. “What’s wrong with it?” she asks Sid.

Sid’s eyes catch hers and her eyes are watering up and Sid gets real gentle. “It’s not the food, honey. I just can’t eat when I’m tied up like this.”

“Tough.” Jincy takes the plate away.

I’m putting on my shoes and Jincy is staring at me. “I’m going into town.”

“What about him?” She points at Sid.

“He’s tied up.”

She doesn’t say anything. She just starts doing the dishes. I put on my jacket and leave.

Chapter 22

So, I’m in this tavern in Parkdale and I’m sitting at the bar having a beer. I’m thinking about things in general and it all strikes me funny. Here I am, a black ballplayer in the mountains of Oregon with an elephant, a smart-ass nine-year-old white girl, and a black Indian tied up in my dead manager’s cabin. And to top it all off, I’m planning to fly off a mountain. I laugh out loud.

“What’s so funny?” asks the barman.

I just shake my head and look down the bar and there’s a woman with a bulbous nose and she’s got a little bit of something on her upper lip. She wipes it away with her napkin and sniffs and I see this as my chance to catch a cold.

I ask the barman to give the woman down the way a beer and he gives her a wink and gives her the beer. The woman looks over at me and smiles and this is one ugly white woman. But I ain’t interested in her, I’m interested in her cold. I slide along the bar and I says to her, “I want to kiss you on the lips.” Well, she gets madder than a wet hen and rears back like she’s going to hit me and I says, “Wait, let me explain.” She calms down a little and I swallow. “I want to kiss you because you’ve got a runny nose.” And pop! she smacks me one across the face and I go back to the other end of the bar, holding my face.

“No luck, huh?” The barman chuckles.

“Let me have another beer,” I says and I look at the woman again. If it wasn’t for the snot on her lip she’d have no appeal at all. I down a number of beers and I guess I ain’t the only one who finds the woman unattractive because she’s still alone. I’m a little drunk and I’m looking at that wet spot glistening under her bulbous nose and I walk over. And what I do is grab her and plant a big wet kiss on her mouth.

She lets out a scream and takes a swing and misses.

“What’s the problem here?” asks the barman.

“He kissed me,” the woman says.

“Congratulations, Marsha,” the barman says, laughing as he turns to me. “You didn’t really kiss her, did you?”

“Naw.”

He laughs louder and the woman yells, “Eat shit, Jerry!” And she walks out.

I have one more beer and I leave. Outside, waiting for me, is the ugly woman with the nose. She smiles at me. “I liked it when you kissed me,” she says. “I’m Marsha.”

I want nothing to do with this woman and I’m trying to walk away. “I’m glad you liked it.”

She’s following me. “You’re new around here.”

I’m getting into my truck.

“Oh, what a big truck,” says Marsha. “It’s a beautiful night.” She’s looking at me through the open window. “A nice night for a drive.”

I start up the truck. “I’m sorry.”

“I love it when you play hard to get.”

I’m driving away.

When I get back to the cabin I find Jincy waiting up for me. She smells the beer on my breath and sees that I’m a little drunk and she takes a step back.

“You’re drunk,” she says.

“Yep.” I smile at her.

She starts to cry.

“What’s wrong with you?” I look over at Sid. “What’s wrong with her?”

“My daddy used to get that way and then he’d beat me.” She runs to her bed and buries her face in her pillow.

Sid looks at me and shakes his head. “You.”

“Me?” I pull a chair over and sit in front of Sid.

“So, you’re drunk.”

“Yep. Drunk, d-r-u-n-c-h, drunk.” I rub my eyes. “Sixteen — count ’em — sixteen beers and a kiss from ugly Marsha.”

Sid smiles. “Why don’t you untie me, boy?”

“I’m drunk, not stupid.”

“Tell me about the elephant.”

“A bet, won him in a bet.” I pause and focus on Sid. “You should have seen ugly Marsha. She had a nose the size of a grapefruit.”

“Why’d you kiss her?” asked Jincy.

“‘Cause she had a runny nose.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“I kissed her so I could catch a cold.” Jincy is frowning now. “You know I need a fever.”

“I’ll show you how to catch a cold,” says Sid.

“How?”

“Untie me and I’ll show you.”

“I’m not stupid. You stay tied.”

“You kissed her,” Jincy says.

“Is there hair on it?” Naomi asked. We were sitting on an old bench in my garage.

“What?” I didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Is there hair? Down there.” She pointed at my crotch.

I swallowed and tossed back my head. Rain was striking the roof. “Some.”

“Some?” Naomi laughed. Then she leaned over and kissed me. She pushed her tongue deep into my mouth, then rubbed it over my teeth. I closed my eyes and touched her tongue with mine. This really got to her and she hugged me and kissed me harder. Then she undid my trousers. I pulled away for a second, but she pulled me back. Now my tongue was in her mouth and she started sucking it and my eyes opened. I was perspiring heavily. I looked at her lowered lids; she looked so peaceful. Her hand slipped into my shorts and her fingers played with my penis. She squeezed it and let it fall through her fingers. Then she cupped my testicles and she giggled into my mouth. She removed her hand, grabbed my hand, and put it under her dress. My hand remained there motionless and then she pushed my elbow so that my hand touched her underwear. It was warm and damp there. She pushed my elbow again and I started groping at her panties. She put her hand back into my shorts. My fingers squeezed past her underwear and I felt the wet fold of flesh.

“What’s going on here?!” screamed Ma, sliding under the garage door.

Naomi gasped, pushed my hand off, and ran away. I fastened up my trousers with quick, shaking hands.

“What are you doing?!”

I had no answer for her.

Ma ran to me and stared into my eyes. I stood up. She slapped me. It really stung. Then she hit me again. “Why? Why did you kiss her?”

“She kissed me,” I said.

“Same thing!” She stomped. “I don’t believe you. I’ve got the milk you need. I’m your mother.” She began to pace. The rain stopped and there was no sound. “Don’t kiss her anymore.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Kiss me,” she said and she grabbed my head. She put her lips against mine and tried to force her tongue between my teeth.

I pulled away and fell backwards over the bench. I was on my feet quickly and running for the door. I slid under the door onto the wet gravel outside. I ran to the pond and stretched on the wet grass. I cried.

The next morning I’m just dripping and sniffing like crazy and I’m just thrilled and Jincy is feeling my head for a fever.

“Seems normal to me,” she says.

“You’re crazy,” I says, moving her hand and putting my knuckles against my cheek. “I’m burning up.”

Then there’s a knock at the door and Jincy looks at me with scared eyes. I walk to the window and look out, but I don’t see a car. I open the door a crack and it’s Richard Beckwith. I let him in.

“I came by to see your Loxodonta africana again,” Beckwith says as he enters. He stops when he sees Sid and he turns to me.

“A guest,” I tell him.

“Why is he tied up?”

“He wants to kill me.”

“Why?”

“He’s crazy,” I tell him.

Beckwith looks around and sees Jincy. “Everyone in town is looking for you.”

“You didn’t tell anybody where I am, did you?” Jincy asks.

Beckwith shakes his head and then he looks at Renoir. “Damn,” he says, “that’s one fine specimen.” He pauses. “Are you going to tell me where you got him?”

“Won him in a bet.”

Beckwith just looks at me. “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”

“I told you.”

“Okay, okay. So, what are you going to do with him?” He’s pointing at Sid.

“Keep him tied up.”

“I can call the sheriff from my place.”

“No, thanks.”

Beckwith looks at Renoir and Jincy and then nods. “I understand.” He looks at Renoir again. “Beautiful.”

“Do me a favor,” I says. “Put your hand up here on my face and tell me if I’ve got a fever.”

He puts his hand on my forehead and shakes his head. “Seems normal.”

I pull away from him. “Jesus, you’re as bad as she is.” I’m pointing at Jincy. “I’m burning up.”

“Untie me so I can see,” says Sid. “Let me touch your face.”

“I don’t think so,” I says.

Beckwith leaves and Jincy is staring at me.

“What is it?” I ask her.

“Just who did you kiss?”

“Just some woman.”

“Why?”

“Because she had a cold.” I sniff. “And now I’ve got it.”

“And what about him?” She’s pointing at Sid.

“What about him?”

“He says you stole his money.” She pulls out the briefcase and opens it. “This money.”

Sid gasps.

“I didn’t steal it, I ended up with it,” I tell her. “He was trying to kill me.”

Jincy’s eyes are wet. “Why’d you kiss her?”

“I needed her cold.” I turn and walk out. “Jesus,” I mutter as I slam the door and I walk off toward the lake. I don’t know how to read Jincy’s behavior. It seems like she’s jealous and I figure it’s natural, but it’s more complicated — like she thinks I’m her boyfriend.

I sat by the pond for a long time, watching the ducks and tossing stones into the water and thinking. Ma had me scared to death and I didn’t know what to think about Naomi. She had caused some unfamiliar feelings to stir within me. When dark came I headed home. My eyes scanned the ground. Martin had left off shooting sparrows, so there were none.

As I approached the house I saw Bud. He was in the backyard. I watched him as he untied Django. The dog went running off.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, running to Bud.

He was startled. “Oh, Bird,” he said.

“Why?”

“I just couldn’t stand to see him tied up.”

“But Mr. Simpson—”

“That’s called a chance,” Bud said and started back toward the house. I walked with him. “If Mr. Simpson shoots him, then he shoots him. At least the dog is free to get shot.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “The dog doesn’t know anything.”

Bud stopped at the door and turned to me. “Nothing’s fair and nobody knows anything. That’s just the way it is.” He looked at my puzzled expression. “You don’t understand. Don’t worry, what I’m saying doesn’t make any sense.”

Then a rifle shot rang out. “It’s your fault!” I cried and hit him in the stomach.

He stared at me without expression. Then he stepped into the house.

Bud was gone when I woke up the next morning. I sat in the living room and recalled his playing.

Chapter 23

Sid’s been tied up for some days now and he’s complaining that his circulation has stopped, even though I’ve let him up to walk around the cabin a few times. He’s also complaining about the fact that he’s only had eggs and bacon to eat.

“Eggs and bacon, bacon and eggs.” Sid turns his cheek to the loaded fork.

“Eat it,” Jincy says, poking Sid’s face with the fork.

“Hey!” Sid yells. “How’d you like me to poke you in the face?”

“Eat!”

“I’m sick of eggs and bacon.”

“Eat!”

I’m sitting at the table, doing my neck exercises and looking at my wing plans. I need some plastic tubing and strong thin plastic, like garbage bags. I get up and grab my hat.

“Where are you going?” Jincy asks.

“To town. You need anything?”

“Food,” Sid says.

“What are you going to town for?”

“Materials,” I answer. “For my wings.” I look at Jincy’s silent face for a second and then I leave.

So, I’m in town and I’m looking across the counter in the general store at the fella with the buck teeth and the enormous forehead. On the counter I’ve got plastic tubing and about a dozen boxes of trash bags of assorted kinds.

“What do you need all these trash bags for?” asks the clerk.

I think at first it’s none of his business, but I says, “You expect me to fly without wings?”

He just looks at me.

“I’m going to fly off Willet Rock.”

The clerk laughs and looks at the merchandise on the counter. “Looks like fifteen dollars.”

“I’m serious,” I tell him, handing him a twenty-dollar bill.

He gives me my change and laughs louder. “I like you.” He catches his breath and looks at me. “They tell me you’re Craig Suder, the ballplayer. Why ain’t you playing ball?”

I collect my goods and I leave and waiting for me by my truck is ugly Marsha.

“Hi there,” says Marsha.

“Hey.”

“It’s good to see you.” She puts her foot on the running board of the truck and pulls her skirt over her knee.

I’m looking at her fat leg and noticing her fat ankle and I says, “Excuse me.” And I reach for the door handle.

She catches my hand and kisses it. “I love you.”

“Excuse me.” I move her leg and I open the door and get into the truck.

“I’ll do anything for you,” she says and moves her bushy eyebrows up and down. “Anything.” She touches her nose with her tongue.

I shake my head and start the engine and drive away. I look in the mirror and see her yelling at me and giving me the finger.

On the road I see a pheasant that’s been hit by a car and I get out and toss it into the truck. I need the feathers for my wings. I figure a couple more road kills and the stuffed birds in the cabin should offer enough feathers.

I drive on and I’m feeling sorry for ugly Marsha, but I ain’t about to go back and try to make her feel better. Then I start to wonder what I should do with Sid and I think that maybe I can just untie him and force him to leave at gunpoint. I doubt it.

“I don’t see why it matters all that much where I glue the feathers,” Jincy says.

I look across the table at her. “It matters.” I’ve built the frames of the wings with plastic tubing. Each frame is like a big horseshoe, about as tall as me, with slats running across the width. I’ve sorted out the strongest trash bags and cut them into strips and wrapped the strips around the frames. The feathers are going on one at a time.

“This is really boring,” Jincy says.

I nod.

Jincy glues on another feather. “Will these things work?” I’m silent for a second and then, “Uh-huh.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

She pushes the feathers away and puts her head on folded arms on the table. “I don’t want you to do this.” “Want me to do what?” I tip my beret up. “Jump.”

“I’m not jumping, I’m flying.” I stick on another feather.

She looks up at me. “What if they don’t work?”

“They’ll work.”

“I’m sick of gluing on feathers,” Jincy says and closes her eyes.

“I’ll help,” says Sid.

“No, thank you,” I says. I look back at Jincy. She looks very small. “What are you afraid of?”

She raises her head. “What if they don’t work? What if you fall? You could die. I’ll be left alone.”

Silence.

Then I speak: “Why don’t you bring Renoir in and give him a bath?” I get up and grab my jacket. “I’m going to Willet Rock.”

I leave the house and walk up the trail on the south side of the mountain and follow it around to the western face. It’s a good hour’s hike and I’m a little winded when I reach this giant boulder that overlooks the lake. Below me, flying in big circles, is a vulture and I can’t take my eyes off him. He ain’t moving his wings and the currents are taking him up and down. I close my eyes and feel the wind on my face. I fall asleep.

It’s dark when I wake up and a light mist is hovering around me. I can’t see a thing and I’m trying to feel my way along the trail and I’m getting real anxious because the woods are extra quiet. My face brushes against the leaves of a tree and they are wet from the fog. I inhale the moist air. It is cool. I walk slowly on and I’m thinking about the fog and remembering a postcard that Bud Powell sent me from London when I was young. The picture on the card was of lamps on the street shining through fog and the message read: “Almost there.”

Jincy is on her knees raking mud from between Renoir’s toes with a stick and I’m sitting on the front steps doing my neck exercises. Richard Beckwith comes walking up the drive and he’s smiling real big.

“Hey,” I greet him.

“Hi, Craig.” He seems nervous. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine. You?”

“Great.” He pauses and looks over at Jincy and Renoir. “You really think it’s right for you to keep that child with you? I mean, her parents must be pretty worried.”

“Her parents beat her up,” I tell him.

He rubs his face with his palm. “You know, there’s some talk down in town about you flying off the mountain.”

I just look at him and I’m touching my shoulder with my nose.

Beckwith is even more nervous and he looks around and then he points. “Perisoreus canadensis.”

“Gray jay.”

“Funny how rumors get started.” He chuckles.

And I smile.

“You’re going to try it, aren’t you?”

And I says, “Chirp, chirp.”

Beckwith tilts his head and looks at me with questioning eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg or not.”

“Chirp.”

“You’re joking.” He laughs nervously.

“Off Willet Rock.” I’m staring at his eyes behind those fat lenses.

“This is crazy.”

“Just finished my wings.” I stand up. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to rest. Tomorrow is the big day.”

“You know,” says Beckwith, “you’re talking about suicide.”

“Whatever.” I wave my fingers at him and turn and enter the cabin. I stare up at the ceiling and then my eyes fall over to my saxophone, which is in the corner. I hear Charlie Parker’s solo. I fall asleep, humming it softly to myself.

Chapter 24

“Be careful,” I says.

“Sorry,” Jincy says, pulling the razor a bit slower across my head. “It pulls because it ain’t sharp.”

“Go on. Don’t worry about it.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I want to be streamlined, no wind resistance.” I straighten the towel around my neck.

“Damn silly,” says Sid.

I look at Jincy. “I’m going to shave my whole body.” “Everyplace?”

I nod and she cuts my head and I yelp and Renoir lets out a blast.

“Sorry,” she says and finishes. “There.”

I rub my hand over my clean head and whistle. “That’s pretty good.” I stand up and undress. “Give me the razor.”

Jincy hands me the razor without saying anything and I take to lathering up my legs.

“What are you doing?” Sid asks. “Shaving your legs?”

I don’t respond.

“Don’t that beat all,” he says, shaking his head. “Sick. I should have killed you without warning. Damn.”

Jincy watches silently as I pull the razor up and down my calves and then I lather up my groin.

“In front of the girl?” Sid asks in disbelief.

I don’t pay him no mind. I carefully shave around my penis and Jincy is staring at me. Her eyes rise up to meet mine and tears start to come out and roll down her cheeks.

Then there’s a pounding at the door and the sound of Richard Beckwith’s voice: “Craig! Craig!”

“Come in,” I says.

The door swings open and Beckwith sees me with my legs apart and a lathered-up crotch and he freezes. The bright daylight is behind him.

“What are you doing?” Beckwith asks.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing?”

“He’s shaving his nuts!” Sid screams. “The man is insane. Untie me so I can get away.” And then Sid yells at me, “I hope you slip and cut it off.” Then he makes a loud noise, trying to make me slip.

I’m finished and wiping the lather off with the towel. “What do you want?” I ask Beckwith.

Beckwith is staring at my crotch. “I was in town. I heard the sheriff— Why?”

I raise my eyebrows.

He points at my groin.

“I’m cutting down on air friction. What about the sheriff?”

He shakes his head. “The sheriff’s coming to arrest you. Some woman in town says you raped her.”

Jincy gasps.

“Psssst!” Sid tries to get Beckwith’s attention. “Get me out of here. He’s a crazy raper.”

“The guy in the store said her name was ugly Marsha,” says Beckwith.

“The woman I got the cold from.” I stand up. “Jincy, get me the cooking oil.”

“What are you doing now?” Beckwith asks.

“Getting ready to fly,” I answer. Jincy hands me the oil and I start rubbing it on my body. “Let the wall down,” I says to Jincy.

“You don’t really plan to go through with this?” Beckwith frowns.

The wall comes down and daylight floods the cabin and I grab my wings. I step across the wall and Renoir and Jincy are behind me. Beckwith is following, but Sid calls to him, “Hey, come here. I want to have a word with you.” And Beckwith goes back.

Jincy and I take off along the trail and a car pulls up to the cabin and a fat guy gets out. It’s fat Thomas from Portland.

“Craig!” yells fat Thomas. “Craig!” And he trots up the trail.

“Hey.” I step toward him.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. He looks past me. “You’ve got an elephant.”

Jincy looks at me.

Thomas is staring at my shaved groin and he starts to tremble like he’s going to blow up. Then he cries, “Oh, Craig, darling.” And he’s on his knees hugging me around the waist.

I push him away and deliver a punch to his chops and he falls over. He lies there.

Jincy and I walk on up the path and after some distance we see hunters on the trail ahead. We turn and head through the woods and up the mountain and we’re weaving through the trees. Then there’s a woman’s voice yelling, “I love you!” It’s ugly Marsha and she’s coming up behind us.

And behind Marsha is Sheriff Prager shouting for me to stop and he’s got his pistol drawn. His gun is pointing toward the sky and a bullet hits a tree near me and there’s Sid Willis limping up the incline. Prager ducks at the report from Sid’s gun and he turns to see Sid. Prager exclaims, “Another nigger in the woods!”

“I’m an Indian!” Sid screams and takes a shot at Prager and Prager shoots back and the two of them are hiding behind trees, shooting at each other.

Marsha is still running at us and yelling that she loves me and Thomas is coming to, shaking his head. Jincy and I are moving faster and I’m looking back every few steps.

“Go on,” Jincy says and she looks back at me. “I love you.” I turn and start running through the woods, naked, my wings under my arm, and soon I’m back on the trail.

It was early Saturday morning and it was unusually cool because it had rained the night before. Martin and I were on our bicycles behind Ma and Daddy as they ran. People stepped out onto their porches as we passed — the black people, anyway. The white people pulled their curtains back and gathered at their windows. The pace slowed greatly after about six miles, but with second winds Ma and Daddy picked up the tempo again.

After four hours I was very tired. Ma was falling forward and Daddy was limping, clutching at his sides. Weeks of practice had not caused them such pain. There was no talking.

Finally we were only a few blocks from home. People were stepping out of their houses and onto the street. Word of Ma’s approach spread down the street. Cars were standing in the middle of the road and people were sitting on hoods and roofs, watching.

I was behind Ma. Her back straightened as she drew closer to the end. She was merely falling into each step, finding her stride. The silence was broken by one person applauding and then everyone was clapping. Daddy stopped about twenty feet from our yard and applauded, also. I hopped off my bike and let it fall to the street. I stood by Daddy, clapping and watching as Ma ran off the street and into our driveway. She fell to her knees on the gravel. Daddy and I ran to her. Daddy dropped to one knee beside her and just looked at her. Ma looked at her bleeding knees and then at Daddy. Tears were rolling down her face. Daddy pulled her close and the neighbors became silent. Daddy picked Ma up and carried her toward the house. His eyes were wet.

Well, I’m on this rock and I’m looking down over the lake and I slip into my wings. The sky is clear and the wind is firm and what I do is step off Willet Rock. I free-fall for about fifty feet with my wings doing everything except what I want them to do and I pee because I’m so scared and all of a sudden I’m gliding.

My wings are full of the wind now and I’m a little dizzy because I’m flying in tight circles. I’m catching glimpses of figures in the woods far below. Then all hell breaks loose. I’m in a power dive, heading straight down, and let me tell you, there’s plenty of down to head into. The lake is still, like a mirror beneath me, and I can see my speck of a reflection. I think about that osprey pulling out of a dive and I pull up on the front of the wings and hold them as stiff as I can. And this ain’t easy because the wind is stretching my face around my head. I manage to pull out of the dive. In fact, when I pull out, I’m near this ridge and this blast of air sends me straight up. I realize now that there’s a lot I don’t know about air currents. Well, I’m starting to get the hang of it, but every now and then I find myself upside down or flying backwards.

Now I’m making big circles and I’m pretty much in charge and I’m slowly going down. I can see Jincy and Renoir by the lake and Jincy’s waving.

I’m feeling the wind on my face and listening to it roaring past my ears and I’ve got an erection. And I’m flying, goddamnit, I’m flying. Then I see Beckwith on a ridge with the hunters and he’s pointing up at me. I imagine him to say, “Homo sapiens.”

And I says, “Craig Suder.”