House of Wings (8 page)

“All right,” Sammy said. He discovered that he had not even started to eat yet. With one eye on the owl, who was still staring at him with cold yellow eyes, Sammy ate quickly. As he ate he looked out the open door. He could see the crane in the pen. The crane was standing with his head tucked under his wing feathers.

Suddenly Sammy wasn’t hungry any more. He took his remaining spaghetti and fed it cautiously to the geese, saying again and again, “Watch out for my fingers now, you guys. Watch out! Watch out!” He tried to make sure that the goose who was always hissing at him was not left out. “Watch out now. Give me room.” Then he added quickly to the owl, “I’m just giving them some leftover spaghetti.” The owl blinked once and continued to stare.

A
FTER A MOMENT THE
owl turned and walked stiff-legged across the table. He stood staring at the doorway, his knuckles curled down over the edge of the table.

“You see something?” Sammy asked. Sammy thought that the owl probably knew more about the inside of this house than his grandfather. He thought rooms would look different seen from the tops of doors and the insides of closets.

The owl stared through the doorway, then left the table and flew to the back of the chair by the door. Without pausing he flew out into the hall and onto the top of the front door. Then he glided down to the banister and kept flying in short swoops until he was upstairs.

Sammy listened to the owl fly away, then he got up and put the dishes in the sink. When his grandfather came out of the pantry, Sammy said, “The owl went upstairs somewhere. I don’t know what he’s up to.”

Sammy’s grandfather was making a mixture of mashed sardines, meal, canned milk, and water. “I think this will do the trick,” he said to Sammy as he stirred. He had put his old railroad jacket back on, and he looked more like himself. He mixed the sardines and mopped his jacket with one hand when his enthusiastic stirring caused some to spill.

Sammy walked over and looked into the bowl. When he was a little boy he had spent a lot of time mixing things together—just mixing different foods to see how they tasted, and then he wouldn’t have the nerve to try them. He would go around begging people, “Taste this for me and tell me what it’s like,” and they would always say, “You taste it yourself.”

He hoped his grandfather wasn’t going to ask him to taste this particular mixture. He sighed and said, “That spaghetti really filled me up.” His grandfather added more sardines. Sammy said, “I couldn’t eat another bite of
anything
I’m so full.”

“Well, let’s get to it.” His grandfather turned and Sammy followed him out into the yard.

As they went down the steps Sammy asked, “Where does the owl go upstairs? Do you know?”

“The owl? He’s got a favorite place in the bathroom up on a pipe, and he likes the top part of one of the closets. He could be ’most anywhere up there, I reckon.” They crossed the yard together. “He goes in the back bedroom sometimes because there’s a mirror on the dresser and he likes to look at himself.”

“Is that the truth?”

“I caught him at it once, swooping down at himself and then landing and walking past. He’s got a kind of hop he does. You ever seen an owl walk?”

“No, I just saw him take a couple of steps on the table.”

“Well, he hobbles along with his head bowed and his wings drooping. He’s more like an old man thinking about something than a bird. Anyway, he’d walk past the mirror and then he’d fly up and swoop down at himself and then land and walk past.”

“I never knew birds could see themselves in a mirror.”

“I had a thrasher used to attack himself.” His grandfather paused. “’Course with the owl, it’s more admiration. Or maybe he gets lonesome. I don’t know.” He kept walking. “I reckon we’ll have to let him go before long, but it would surprise you, boy, how much you can miss an owl or a blackbird once it’s lived with you.”

“I would miss the owl already.”

His grandfather stopped talking as they went through the gate. Sammy could see that the crane was still in the same place, standing without moving, his head rising above the fence like a periscope.

The afternoon was hot and quiet. The only sound was the noise the geese made rustling through the weeds as they followed Sammy’s grandfather into the pen. “I’ll open his beak and you pour the food in, hear? Let it run down the side of his throat,” his grandfather said. “We don’t want to choke him.”

The geese stopped at the gate and stood like a small inattentive audience. One goose left the group and went over to attack a weed by the fence post. When she had reduced it to tatters she spread her wings proudly and came back to join the others.

Sammy stood on one side of the crane and looked at his grandfather. The sun was in his eyes and he blinked. He said, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do this right or not.”

“Over to the side of his throat now,” his grandfather said, as if Sammy had not spoken.

“I said that I don’t know whether I can—” His grandfather cut off his words by thrusting the bowl into his hands.

“Here.”

Sammy took the bowl uneasily. “I don’t know whether I can or not,” he said again. There was some of the mixture on the outside of the bowl, and the bowl was so slick Sammy almost dropped it. He got it steady and glanced at his grandfather.

“Now,” his grandfather said.

The crane did not put up a struggle at first. He allowed his beak to be opened, but as soon as Sammy shakily put a spoonful of the sardine liquid into his throat, he rebelled. He closed his gullet and most of the mixture came out and ran down the outside of his throat. His neck was pale and seemed thin and fragile. Sammy tried to wipe away the mixture with the side of his hand.

“Don’t bother about that,” his grandfather said. “That won’t hurt him. Just try to get it into his mouth this time.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to be able to do it,” Sammy said. He let another spoonful dribble down the inside of the crane’s throat. The crane swallowed.

“You’re doing all right,” his grandfather said. “Just keep going.”

After the first few spoonfuls the crane seemed to give up and accept the indignity of the feeding. “Now, that ought to do it,” his grandfather said finally, and Sammy gratefully let the spoon plop back into the liquid.

His grandfather took the bucket of water and began to wash some of the food and dirt from the crane’s feathers. Sammy wiped his hands on his pants. He looked back at the house. After a minute he asked, “Now, where is it that owl hides out?”

“In the bathroom generally.”

“Well, I thought I might just go up there and have a look,” Sammy said casually.

“Take him something. He likes moths or grasshoppers, anything in that line.” Sammy hesitated and his grandfather said, “Everywhere you step around here there’s a grasshopper, boy, just look around.”

Sammy walked around the yard for a while, his eyes on the ground. Finally he found a grasshopper in the high grass by the back porch and caught it on the third try. “Is this kind all right?” he asked his grandfather.

His grandfather nodded. “Wait a minute. Let me have that.” He took the grasshopper from Sammy and held it up to the crane. There was no reaction. His grandfather waited a minute and then handed the grasshopper back to Sammy. “I don’t reckon he’s hungry now,” he said in a disappointed voice.

With the grasshopper wiggling in his hand, Sammy went slowly into the house and up the stairs. The top floor of the house was tidier than the first floor. No mud had been tracked up here and the geese rarely came up the stairs. All the furniture was in place and the beds were covered with spreads.

Sammy walked cautiously down the hall and into the bathroom. The linoleum was cool beneath his feet and all the spigots dripped a little, making a pleasant rhythmic sound. Vines grew over the windows so that no sun ever came in, and the bathroom was as dark and cool as the forest. Sammy thought that it was no wonder the owl liked it up here.

He stopped in the middle of the room and looked up. An old shower curtain, torn and sagging, was pushed against the wall, and there was a shelf behind the curtain with old hair-tonic bottles on it. Just under the shelf on the shower pipe was the owl. The owl’s head was turned toward Sammy. His yellow eyes looked unblinkingly at him.

Sammy said, “I brought you something.” He put the grasshopper down into the tub. “This is yours.” He backed away slowly.

The owl kept watching Sammy. He blinked his eyes once, his lower lids moving up to meet the top lids, and then he turned his head and looked down into the tub.

The tub was stained with rust where the water dripped, and the dust of several years lay in the bottom. The grasshopper, at the far end of the tub, began hopping up against the side and falling back.

The owl’s look intensified. His pupils snapped open. He strained upward, and then suddenly he bobbed from side to side, swaying, his eyes on the grasshopper. He leaned forward. His talons tightened on the shower pipe. His eyes seemed to pierce the grasshopper. The grasshopper jumped again and fell back into the tub.

Sammy was holding his breath. His eyes went from the owl to the grasshopper.

The owl was motionless now. His stare was fixed. The grasshopper leaped one more time and fell back. It remained in the corner of the tub. Both the owl and the grasshopper were motionless then.

The owl made a faint hissing sound, like steam escaping. Then he swooped down into the tub and pounced on the grasshopper with both feet. His talons curled around the grasshopper, and he put it in his mouth.

The owl’s mouth seemed enormous when he opened it, and Sammy stood silently watching him eat. When the owl finished he flew back to the shower pipe and turned his head to Sammy.

Sammy was standing there with his mouth hanging open. He was thinking that this house had everything—geese, a parrot in the kitchen, a crane, and an owl in the bathroom.

Then suddenly Sammy noticed how intently the owl was staring at him. He took a step backward. He said quickly, “That was the only one I could find.” He backed out into the hall and went quietly down the stairs.

S
AMMY AND HIS GRANDFATHER
force-fed the crane again after supper, but the crane still made no effort to help. He just allowed himself to be fed after a brief struggle.

Sammy’s grandfather stood looking at the ruffled, battered crane, then he looked down in the bowl at the remaining food and he sighed. “Them cranes I used to know could eat a hundred and fifty grasshoppers in the morning and a hundred and fifty at night. That’s a hundred and fifty
each.”
He shook his head. “This don’t look good.”

“His not eating?”

His grandfather answered, “Everything don’t look good.” It was a judgment. “Not eating, not caring, not trying to get away, not doing nothing.”

“I don’t guess there’s any way to
make
him want to live,” Sammy said.

“You know, that’s a funny thing. I got me three wild ducklings one time—my dog brought one home and then went back and got two more, just carried them home in his mouth. Anyway, two of them ducks lived and grew up and the other one just died. There wasn’t any reason I could see. Two just lived and one didn’t.”

“Oh.” Sammy looked away from the crane and then up at the sky. He watched the color fade out of the sky, and he felt as if he were fading out in the same way. He was very tired. He thought he was going to fall asleep standing in the pen. He remembered an old man who had lived behind his family in Alabama. This old man would fall asleep standing on the sidewalk waiting to cross the street. Sammy understood now how that could happen. He had almost fallen asleep at the supper table and then again when he was sitting on the back steps and now in the pen. He looked at his grandfather and said, “What time do you go to bed around here?”

His grandfather looked surprised at the question. “Well, whenever you want to.”

Sammy nodded. That was the way it was at home. He never had to go to bed there as long as he didn’t bother anybody.

“You can go on to bed now if you’re tired.”

“No, I’m not tired,” he said quickly.

“Well, whenever you want to then. It don’t matter.”

Sammy stood in the weeds, waiting. He scratched the back of one leg with his foot. His grandfather waited too. He took off his hat, combed his hair with his hand, and settled that hat back in the same place. Even the geese at the gate, facing in different directions, still as statues, were waiting.

“Well,” his grandfather said, “don’t look like he’s going to do anything tonight.”

“No,” Sammy agreed. He yawned, hid it behind his hand, and said, “Well, maybe I might just go in and lie down for a minute or two.”

“You go ahead. I put your suitcase in your room.”

Sammy went into the bedroom, lay down on the bed, and stretched out his aching legs. His legs were so dusty that he appeared to have on stockings.

Sammy had never been known for his cleanliness, but he could never remember being this dirty before in his life. He even felt dirty. He wished suddenly that his old teacher Mrs. Haggendorn could see him. Mrs. Haggendorn had tried to get him clean the whole time he was in her room. The third grade, as he looked back on it, seemed to have been one long struggle against being clean. Once on his report card she had written, “Sammy needs to work on his personal hygiene.” Sammy had asked his mother, “What does that mean?” And his brother had hollered from the bedroom, “It means you’re filthy.”

“I am not filthy!” he had said. “A little dirty maybe sometimes, but I’m not filthy, Mom.”

“You call that a little dirty?” his mother had cried, noticing him closely for the first time in weeks. She turned him around so she could see the back of his neck. “And let me see your hands.” Reluctantly he had shown them to her. “Now, those
are
filthy, Sammy. What does the teacher think of me letting you go around like that?”

“She doesn’t think anything.”

“When’s the last time you washed those hands?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes, either then or this morning.”