House of Wings (6 page)

Sammy said, “I’m that way about a dog I had one time. I didn’t have him but two weeks, but I’d know him anywhere. His name was Freckles.”

“If that blackbird come flying over our heads right now, I’d know him.”

“Same with my dog.”

Sammy watched the crane for a moment. He was not moving at all now. The long serpentine neck was arched downward. Only a faint quiver from time to time showed he was still alive. Then Sammy looked up and saw the highway ahead, the culvert they would have to climb through.

“Let’s hold on a minute,” his grandfather said.

Sammy paused and glanced at his grandfather. Holding the crane against his side, the grandfather felt for his bandanna, realized it was over the crane’s eyes, and mopped the back of his neck with his hand. Then he started walking again.

Sammy said, “The crane sure is quiet. It don’t seem natural to me. If somebody was carrying me off with a blindfold over my eyes, I’d kick and holler and—”

“It’s a funny thing with birds, with animals too. When you capture a wild bird or animal, well, a certain number of them will just die. I reckon it’s the shock of the thing.”

“You don’t think the crane’s dying, do you?” Sammy asked quickly.

“No, but I am thinking we ought to get him home as fast as we can.”

“Yeah,” Sammy said, “that’s what I was thinking too.

A
S THEY WALKED TOWARD
the superhighway, both of them kept their eyes on the round circle of the culvert. Finally as they got closer, his grandfather cleared his throat and said what they were both thinking. “The hard part is going to be getting him through that pipe.”

They paused at the foot of the bank. There was a concrete runoff leading down the bank and Sammy put one foot on it and rested. He said, “I don’t think we can do it.”

“We got to.”

“Can’t we go around some other way?”

“Not less you want to walk the five miles to Gatsburg and the five miles back.”

“Well, we could climb that fence, wait till the traffic dies down, and run across. I know I could.” He had been dodging Alabama traffic since he was four.

“The traffic don’t die down on a highway like this. When the cars thin out, the trucks get thicker. Anyway, I don’t want to take a chance with this crane.”

Sammy nodded. Slowly he and his grandfather climbed up to the culvert and started through. Sammy ran ahead. Bent forward, straining with the awkward bundle, his grandfather staggered behind.

Sammy could hear his grandfather wheezing. His breathing was so magnified that the sound filled the pipe. Sammy wanted to suggest that he set the crane down for a minute and rest. He hesitated and his grandfather said, “Keep going!” as if he had read Sammy’s mind.

They came out of the culvert and stood for a moment in the grassy divide between the highways. “Keep going,” his grandfather said again. Sammy started through the culvert. He glanced back once over his shoulder. The crane was struggling again, but his grandfather held him firmly. His grandfather’s face looked like something carved of stone. Nothing could stop him.

Without speaking they got to the road. There was a car passing, and a boy stuck his head out the window and yelled, “Hey, what you got?”

Neither Sammy nor his grandfather answered. They glanced up at the car and then down in a single motion.

“What you
got?”
the boy in the car called again. He was leaning far out the window now, his hair blowing back over his face. “Make Daddy slow down,” he said to his mother, and the car slowed. He yelled, “What you got?”

Sammy looked up again. He hesitated. Suddenly he had an important feeling. He imagined how he and his grandfather looked to the people in the car. He relented. “We caught a crane!”

“A what?”

“A
crane!”

Sammy watched the car go around a bend in the road with a little smile on his face, then he said to his grandfather, “Now
he’
ll probably try to get
him
a crane.”

“Well, you don’t get one by wanting it, I can tell you that.”

“I know. And you can’t buy one, can you?”

“No.”

“Not even in a pet shop.”

“You and me is probably the only people in the world right now with a crane like this.” He began to whistle beneath his breath, cheerfully wheezing out, “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”

They kept walking. Sammy was now trying to step on the soft patches of grass because his feet hurt. He thought there were probably blood blisters on the bottoms. He found a little puddle of mud in the ditch and stood in it.

“Yonder’s the driveway to the house,” his grandfather said over his shoulder. “It won’t be long now. We can cut through here.”

Sammy looked up and nodded. He stepped out of the ditch and started through the weeds. In a few minutes he could see the house.

The house had a deserted look to it. The porch sagged. The paint had been washed off by the rain and worn off by the wind. All the shutters were gone but one. Vines covered the north side of the porch, and the roof leaned under the extra weight. The only sign that anybody lived there was the geese who were now coming out from under the porch.

The geese stood together, their heads turned to Sammy and his grandfather. Then they broke into a run. They came straight across the yard, honking a greeting, their long necks outstretched, and then they slowed down by putting out their wings. Sammy could feel the wind against his legs.

“Well, here’s the welcoming committee,” his grandfather said to Sammy, then to the geese, “You get along now. I ain’t got time for you.”

Keeping together, the geese flocked around the grandfather’s feet. One stretched out her neck and hissed at Sammy. Sammy said, “I’m afraid I’m going to step on them.”

“Well, they shouldn’t get underfoot like that.” His grandfather was jovial. He scolded happily, “Get along now. Get along.”

“What do they do if you step on them?” Sammy asked, putting his feet down carefully.

“Holler.”

“Oh.”

“Or bite.”

“Oh.” Sammy respected these geese. He had decided the first moment he saw them that he would never tease them or cause them trouble of any kind. He only wished there was some way to get this across to the geese. “Nice geese,” he said. “Good girls.” Stepping carefully around them, Sammy went up the rotten stairs and into the front hall.

“Through the kitchen,” his grandfather said.

Sammy walked quickly into the kitchen, which was cluttered with dishes and boxes and sacks and papers. It looked as though his grandfather lived in the kitchen. Sammy walked around the big faded armchair by the stove.

He hesitated, and his grandfather pushed past him and took the crane out onto the porch. Sammy followed. His grandfather’s face was flushed with excitement. “Get the blindfold off.”

Sammy reached out, loosened the knot, and drew off the blindfold in one quick motion. Then he stepped back against the wall. He remembered how the crane had attacked his grandfather’s brother for just teasing him with a piece of bread.

His grandfather set the crane down and stepped back a little too. “There,” he said.

Instantly the crane fell to the floor. He folded up, his legs sticking straight out in front of him like a little child.

“He can’t stand up,” Sammy said. He was astonished. He had expected the crane to come out fighting. He had expected himself to be the first target. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s weak, that’s all. Get some water.” His grandfather, reaching out for the crane, kicked a bucket toward Sammy at the same time.

Sammy took the bucket and went quickly into the kitchen. The pipes were so old that only a trickle of water came out of the faucet. Impatiently he twisted the handles.

“Hurry up,” his grandfather called.

The bucket was only half full but Sammy took it to the porch. “If there was enough water in these pipes,” he grumbled, “I would have—”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” his grandfather said. He was on his knees beside the crane. “He’s just weak. Give me the water.” He grabbed the bucket from Sammy and held it beneath the crane’s head. The crane took no notice of it.

Sammy’s grandfather splashed some water on the crane’s face. Then he dipped his beak down into the water. “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just weak.”

“It looks like more than weakness to me,” Sammy said.

“No,” his grandfather said stubbornly, “he’ll be all right in a minute.” He dipped the crane’s head into the water and this time the crane began to drink. He stuck his long beak into the water almost to the nostrils and then lifted his head and swallowed.

“That’s all that was wrong,” his grandfather cried. “He was just thirsty. See, boy, didn’t I tell you?” The crane drank again. “I told you.”

Still his grandfather looked worried, Sammy thought. His heavy brows were drawn together. The wrinkles in his forehead were so deep they could have been cut with a knife. Sammy said, “Yeah, he was just thirsty,” but he turned his eyes away and stuck his hands in his pockets.

W
HEN THE CRANE HAD
finished drinking, Sammy’s grandfather carried him out to the fenced field behind the house. Sammy ran along trying to help, but his grandfather said, “I’ve got him. You just get the gate.” He sighed. “I bet this crane don’t weigh ten pounds. He’s like a sack of feathers.”

Sammy ran ahead. Weeds had grown up in front of the gate and it was difficult to open. Sammy tugged at it and then yanked angrily. “What’s wrong with this old gate anyway?” He wasn’t sure whether it was the gate or his weakened arms.

“Lift it up.”

Sammy tried to lift the gate, and then dragged it open, scraping it over the weeds. “I’m getting it,” he said, yanking it inch by inch, “only this doesn’t seem to be much of a place to keep a crane to me.”

“It’s shady and it’s cool. It’ll do.”

The geese had followed the procession through the house and were now standing around the grandfather’s feet, making cackling noises. One stuck out her neck and hissed at Sammy. Sammy said, “Don’t these geese ever stay out of the way?”

“No.” His grandfather was holding the crane out in front of him, waiting.

“All right, the gate’s open, enough anyway,” Sammy said. “If these geese would just stay out of my way, I could …” Sammy’s voice trailed off as his grandfather walked over and went through the gate.

“What we got to do first,” he said, “is get some food for him. I don’t reckon he’s had much from the look of him.”

“When do
people
eat around here?” Sammy asked pointedly.

His grandfather set the crane down and then stepped back. “See, he’s getting his strength. He’s standing.”

“Yeah,
he’s
standing,” Sammy said. He looked up at the sky, saw where the sun was, and knew he had missed both breakfast and lunch. For some reason he thought about a commercial he had seen on TV one time where little round pieces of cereal danced in a chorus line. Those round pieces of cereal swam before his eyes.

“Go get the water,” his grandfather said, “and get some of that corn in a sack by the door. Hurry now.”

Sammy ran quickly back into the house. He ran past the sack of corn and began to open the cupboards, searching not for the corn but for food for himself.

There was a box of Wheaties in the cupboard, and Sammy turned it up and, eating from the box, walked over to the refrigerator. He unwrapped two slices of cheese, poured Wheaties on them, and washed it all down with water from the spigot.

There were apples on the window sill behind the sink, and Sammy had two of those, and then he took biscuits from a metal plate on the stove and ate those with more cheese. He was still standing at the refrigerator, eating, when he heard his grandfather.

“Boy, come on with the water. Hurry!”

Sammy swallowed the last of his biscuit. “I’m hurrying as fast as I can.” He put the box of Wheaties in the refrigerator and closed the door. “Now, where is this corn anyway?” He moved to the sink to get one more apple.

Suddenly he got the feeling that someone was watching him. He glanced out the window and saw that his grandfather was still standing in the field with the crane. Sammy swirled around, and then he saw a small green parrot. It was perched on a mop handle which had been nailed across the corner of the kitchen. The parrot was watching him with its bright, beady eyes. It bobbed from side to side. Its eyes did not leave Sammy. Quickly, guiltily Sammy said, “I was just looking for the corn.” Then he called louder, “Hey, where did you say the corn was?”

“In a sack by the door.”

“Yeah, I see it now.”

Sammy scooped up a handful of corn and grabbed the bucket of water as he went onto the porch. He ran across the yard, calling to his grandfather, “I would have been here sooner but I couldn’t find the corn. It was behind the door.”

He slowed down when he got to the gate and slipped through. “There’s a parrot loose in your kitchen and it—” He stopped where he was. There was something about the way his grandfather was standing that bothered him. He waited. The bucket swung in one hand and stopped. The corn got sweaty in the other.

Sammy looked. The crane was still standing in the same place. His head was lifted, leaning a little to the left. He didn’t seem any worse than when Sammy had left to get the corn. Still there was something wrong. Sammy had felt it instantly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

His grandfather had his back to Sammy. His shoulders were sloping and his arms hung limply at his sides.

“What’s wrong?” Sammy asked again. “Did something happen while I was in the house?” He left the gate. The bucket of water was a little heavier. “I got the corn.” He opened his hand and held out the corn glistening with his sweat. His grandfather did not turn around to look.

Sammy took three steps through the weeds and he was standing in his grandfather’s shadow. He set the bucket down. “What happened?” He had from earliest childhood hated not to know what was happening, and he was so persistent that no one had ever been able to keep anything from him. Now his voice rose with agitation and anxiety. “What’s happened?”