Born to Fly

by Michael Ferrari

  “Oh, a good shepherd always knows his flock.” He reached up to draw the heavy cloth blackout shades over the stained-glass windows. “Could you help me with these, Bird?”

  He tugged on the blinds and the sleeve of his robe slid up his arm. As the church went dark, I noticed something strange on his right forearm. It was a bandage. And it was funny, because it was right about the same place where I had bitten the man in black. My hand began to tremble.

  “Wh-what happened to your arm, Father?”

  He quickly covered his bandage with his sleeve.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Hooked myself fishing is all,” he said. “Still trying to catch something besides turnips for Sister Marilyn.” His voice echoed throughout the darkness of the church. “Would you prefer to talk in the confessional?”

  He moved toward me, his strong hand grasping my arm.

  “No,” I said, trying to wriggle away.

  “They say it’s good for the soul.”

  “I… I just remembered,” I said, fighting free from his grip. “I have to go do something.” I stumbled over myself and when I stepped backwards, I fell down between two of the pews.

  “Ow!” I leapt to my feet and tried to run. But my pant leg got caught on the wooden kneeler.

  “You’ve hurt yourself. Let me look at it,” Father Krauss said.

  “No! No, thanks.” I yanked at my leg.

  “Bird.” He leaned down toward me, his black robe blocking out the light.

  My pant leg tore loose, and I took off as fast as I could out the church door.

  The next day I nervously entered the courthouse with my mom. The crowds had grown so big that we were all mashed together like spawning salmon squeezing our way to the courtroom. For a moment, as we weaved through, I lost hold of Mom’s hand. Suddenly, I felt someone shove me in the back, knocking me to the floor. It was Farley Peck, and within seconds he was on top of me with his forearm jammed in my back.

  “If you got any birdbrained ideas about c-c-covering for that Jap kid’s uncle,” he whispered in my ear, “remember fires can start anyplace, anytime.”

  “Bird.” Mom was there. She knelt down and helped me up.

  “She fell,” Farley said, pretending to help dust off my sleeve.

  I pulled my arm away from him. “I think I need to use the bathroom,” I told Mom.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Farley glared at me as we walked away.

  Just as I escaped into the bathroom, I saw Mrs. Lashley, Minnie’s big-haired mom, corner my mom.

  After splashing some cold water on my face, I shut off the faucet and checked my hair in the mirror. Through the air vent slats in the ladies’ room door, I could hear my mom and Mrs. Lashley talking.

  “Are you all right?” Mrs. Lashley whined. “I heard about that business at your house the other night.”

  “We’re okay,” said Mom.

  “Children. They can be so foolish and reckless sometimes.”

  “Yes. I suppose so,” Mom said.

  “The Japanese boy seemed harmless enough at first. I suppose she didn’t know better, but then, she’s always been difficult. A bit of an oddball, wouldn’t you say? I mean, a cute girl like her wanting to be called Bird. God bless you, you must have the patience of a saint.”

  I was getting ready to leave the ladies’ room when I heard something crinkle as it slid under the door. I spun around to see a folded, lined piece of paper. It was some kind of note. I picked it up and opened it slowly.

  Are you clever enough to

  keep our secret?

  I’ll be watching.

  In an instant, I burst out the ladies’ room door and ran smack into the mobs of people who were jamming the courthouse. I searched every face for the eyes, those dark, empty shark eyes.

  Suddenly a hand grabbed my shoulder.

  “Ahhh!” I screamed.

  “Are you all right?” Father Krauss said. “You seemed a little strange last night.”

  I remembered his bandaged arm and tried not to scream again. Then I spotted my mom with Mrs. Lashley I broke free and ran to her across the room.

  Mrs. Lashley was still talking. “I know you’ll make sure she does the right thing today and exposes that shifty-eyed Mr. Fujita. It will really go a long way toward salvaging her character.”

  “Character?” Suddenly Mom blew her top worse than the time I made a slingshot out of her stocking. She poked her finger at Mrs. Lashley. “That little girl of mine has more character in her little pinky than you and a whole army of those squirrel-faced Shirley Temple cutouts you and your cronies call daughters!”

  “I beg your pardon!” Mrs. Lashley backed away from Mom and tripped on her high heels. When she plopped down on the floor, her hat fell off and her hair sort of spun around.

  “And if I ever hear you talk about Bird like that again, so help me, Irene, I’ll mop the floor with you and that woolly wig you keep on your head.”

  Mrs. Lashley clutched her hair—and it fell right off! I had always thought her hair looked funny, but I never guessed it wasn’t attached to her head. Everyone in the small crowd that had gathered to watch burst out laughing. Mrs. Lashley tried to cover the bare patches on her balding head, but it was no use, so she raced into the bathroom in tears.

  Mom grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

  The crowd parted for us and we marched straight toward the courtroom. It was like that scene in the movie The Wizard of Oz when all the Munchkins stand back to let Dorothy follow the yellow brick road. And all at once, maybe for the first time, I got the incredible feeling that this woman, who it seemed could only scold me or complain about having to clean up after me all the time, this woman who’d just cut Mrs. Lashley down about two sizes, this same woman was my mom, and I wanted everyone in town to know it.

  It was finally my turn to be called. A minute later I was on the stand, trying hard not to fidget, but I couldn’t help it. My eyes kept darting over all the people in the courtroom who were watching me like I was a lightning bug in a jar. I wished I could just stare at the floor, but I could feel the eyes of Father Krauss on me, and it was like my eyes needed to run away until they found something safe to stare at.

  Mr. Wylie finally grabbed my attention. “Don’t be nervous, honey. All you need to do is tell the truth.”

  I nodded, and took a sip of water.

  “Now, on the night of the explosion, you and Kenji were in the woods by Geneseo Bay, trying to take a picture, is that correct?”

  “Y-yes.”

  The crowd chuckled a little.

  “Did you see the defendant, Mr. Fujita, coming back through the woods after the explosion, like Farley testified?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir.”

  “Did you see Farley Peck that night?”

  “No.” I’d seen Mr. Peck under Father Krauss’s boat. Of course, if I mentioned that, everyone would wonder why I hadn’t said anything about it until now. They’d probably think I was making the whole thing up just to help my friend. Maybe they’d even think I was the one who killed Mr. Peck.

  “Now, I want you to think back. Think back, real hard. Did you see anyone in the woods that night? The real person responsible for the murder of Mr. Peck and the sabotage at the Warhawk engine plant, perhaps?”

  Mr. Lashley leapt to his feet. “Real person? Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Overruled,” said the judge. “She can answer.”

  I could answer? Not without ruining either my life or Kenji’s.

  “Um…,” I mumbled. I tried to imagine that Dad was there. What would he have done? What would he have said? Something really smart, I bet. I looked around the courtroom. Kenji’s eyes were pleading with me to tell everyone about the man in black. Then I saw Farley sneering in the front row. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his dad’s Zippo lighter. He flipped it open and playfully flicked the wheel, trying to threaten me. I was sure he would have loved to see me open my big mouth so that the man in black could shut me up
for good. Deputy Steyer cocked his jaw, wondering what I was going to say.

  “Could you repeat the question?” I said, stalling for time.

  Mr. Wylie cleared his throat and gave me a big-eyed look like I was a three-year-old or something. “I’ll make it easier for you, honey. Do you know who killed Mr. Peck?”

  I looked down at the crumpled threat in my hand. I’ll be watching.

  When I looked up, my eyes got caught by Father Krauss’s. He gave the tiniest smile, which shivered the hair on my neck and forearms. If he really was the man in black, why didn’t he just kill me the other night? Why risk me talking in court? Was it because he knew no one would believe me? Or was it that if he did kill me or my family, then everyone would know it wasn’t Uncle Tomo who killed Mr. Peck and bombed the factory? Maybe that was it. He needed me alive. He wanted me to testify. He knew that if I agreed with Kenji, it would make Kenji and Uncle Tomo seem as crazy as everyone in town already thought I was. Maybe Uncle Tomo would be better off if I just kept my mouth shut? I looked away and spotted Mom nodding for me to go ahead and answer. It was like the whole world was waiting to hear what I had to say.

  “Do you know who killed Mr. Peck?” Mr. Wylie repeated.

  “No,” I said. It was sort of the truth. I didn’t know for sure. At least, that was what I told myself.

  The spectators in the courtroom let out one big sigh, as if I had just poked a hole in their big birthday balloon or something. Some of them began to grumble among themselves. Kenji looked hurt and mad, like I had just punched him in the nose. Farley flashed his crooked grin and flicked his dad’s lighter closed.

  “Mr. Lashley?” The judge broke the silence of the room.

  “The prosecution rests, Your Honor,” Mr. Lashley said.

  The judge turned to me. “You may step down.”

  I lowered my eyes and slunk past Kenji and Uncle Tomo.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, the jury was filing back into the courtroom with their decision. I couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or a bad one. When Mom won “Best Tomato” at the county fair, the judges took two hours to decide. But in second grade when Minnie sat down on chewing gum on her seat, the teacher didn’t even ask Farley’s side of things before giving him a week of blackboard duty right on the spot. I guessed a quick decision meant everyone on the jury pretty much agreed from the start. Whether they agreed that Uncle Tomo didn’t kill Mr. Peck or sabotage the plane factory was what we’d find out in a minute.

  The room got quieter than it had been all week. It felt like everyone was holding their breath.

  Finally the judge asked, “Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

  The elderly man in the first seat of the jury box answered, “We have, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Foreman?”

  The elderly man stood up. He cleared his throat. “For the charges of sabotage, espionage, and murder in the first degree, we the jury find the defendant… guilty on all counts.”

  What? I couldn’t believe it. It had to be a mistake.

  “No!” Kenji screamed. “He didn’t do anything.”

  Judge Dickens pounded his gavel for quiet, but Farley laughed and cheered right along with most of the spectators.

  Uncle Tomo looked devastated. The guards started to handcuff him and he dropped his head to his chest like he was ashamed—even though he knew he was innocent. And I felt like I did in second grade, when I kept my mouth shut and didn’t admit that it was me, not Farley, who put that gum on Minnie’s chair, and instead I let Farley take the blame since he was probably guilty of something else anyway. Some “American” I turned out to be. I felt about as worthless as a three-dollar bill.

  “Order. Order,” the judge demanded. “The court will schedule sentencing for next week. Jury is dismissed.” The crowd resumed its chatter and I heard Judge Dickens say to himself, “May God forgive us.”

  I rushed over to Kenji. “It’ll be okay. My dad will straighten everything out when he comes home, I promise.”

  Kenji turned away in all the commotion and was quickly escorted out of the courtroom by Deputy Steyer.

  I managed to squeeze my way to Agent Barson and tugged on his sleeve. “What’s gonna happen to Kenji?”

  “He has no other family. I’m afraid he’ll have to join his parents in the internment camp.”

  “Why?” I said. “He didn’t do anything.”

  “I’m sorry” was all Agent Barson said.

  The streetlight outside the police station made my shadow look six feet tall on the sidewalk. But I felt about six inches tall. I was no expert on friendship, but I would have bet that standing by and letting Kenji get shipped across the country to an internment camp put me in the running for the “Worst Friend of the Year” award.

  A soft summer rain was just starting to fall as I stood at the door, pleading with the deputy to let me in.

  “But Deputy Steyer, I have to talk to him.”

  “He said he doesn’t want to see you, Bird.”

  “I can explain everything,” I said.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” the deputy said.

  “But I’m his friend.”

  Suddenly, a sniffling voice from the other room yelled out, “I don’t have any friends!”

  The deputy shooed me out. “I’m sorry, Bird. It’s late. You’ll have to go.”

  I started to leave, then stopped. I talked loud enough so I knew Kenji could hear. “Deputy? If he asks, tell him it’s Belinda.”

  The deputy rubbed his chin, confused.

  “That’s my real name,” I said. “If he still cares to know.”

  “Belinda,” the deputy repeated. “I’ll tell him.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I turned around, I heard a sound. It was music. Kenji was playing the jitterbug record that he and I had danced to. Suddenly, the needle shrieked, and there was a smash— like someone shattering a record into a hundred pieces on the arm of a chair.

  I lowered my head in the rain and decided to take the long way home.

  Back at home, I sat staring at the radio as it played some stupid, happy swing music. Mom had almost finished mending my dress that had been damaged in the flour-bombing incident.

  “You did everything you could,” she said to me.

  “No I didn’t. Dad would’ve done more.”

  “It’s not your fault, Bird,” she said.

  But I knew that wasn’t true. The whole thing was my fault.

  I was changing the station to hear if there was any news of the war, when the doorbell rang. Margaret leapt up and checked through the blinds.

  “It’s for me,” she said, fluffing her hair.

  All I could think was, Poor Lieutenant Peppel. That was my fault, too.

  I heard her run and open the door, all a-giggle. “Hello, Vernon.”

  “Hi. Is Mrs. McGill home?”

  There was something about the way he said “McGill” that made all the muscles in my stomach twist.

  “Yeah,” Margaret said. “Mom?”

  I got up and followed Mom as she walked to the door, wiping her hands on her apron.

  Lieutenant Peppel was standing in the rain with his eyes to the ground. He removed his hat. “Mrs. McGill. I was asked to deliver this on account of we’ve become somewhat acquainted and…”

  His voice cracked and I got the sense that he was fighting to keep from shaking.

  “Here.” He slowly held out a brown military envelope.

  Mom took it from him uneasily. It was a telegram. She couldn’t bring herself to open it. “What happened, Lieutenant?” She handed it back to him. “What does it say?”

  He swallowed hard, like Dad did that time he had to tell me my kitty got run over. “Ma’am … your husband’s plane was lost during naval landing maneuvers.”

  “What?” said Margaret. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your father was testing a new fighter. His plane crashed in the ocean. He was killed.”

 
; I kept waiting for Lieutenant Peppel to start laughing and admit this was all a joke. It was a really awful joke, and I wished he would hurry up and start laughing. But all he did was hold that ugly brown envelope.

  Then Mom turned to Margaret and said, “Take Alvin and Bird upstairs.”

  Margaret got all pale and grabbed my arm, but I ripped it free.

  “No!” I clutched Mom’s leg and I wasn’t letting go for anything. Margaret gave up and carried Alvin upstairs.

  Mom looked at the envelope in the lieutenant’s hand. “Open it for me, please.”

  Lieutenant Peppel opened it. He reached in and slowly pulled out Dad’s bent and burnt dog tags. I knew they were his because Dad’s wedding ring was still dangling from the chain. That was when Mom started to shake, and shudder, and sob.

  I flew at the lieutenant, pounding my fists on him. “You’re lying! I don’t believe you!”

  He just stood there and let me hit him.

  “It’s a lie! Dad’s okay. I know he is,” I cried.

  Finally, Mom pulled me away.

  “No, no, no!” I echoed over and over until my crying felt like it was coming from somewhere outside me. I buried my tears deep in the folds of Mom’s faded dress, waiting and hoping to somehow wake up from this awful nightmare.

  I never used to think rain had any color, but looking up on the day of Dad’s funeral, I could see I was wrong. It was definitely a gray rain falling from the sky onto the empty casket in the Geneseo cemetery. It was the dirtiest, ugliest gray I had ever seen. There was a military color guard firing rifle shots into the sky, but I couldn’t even hear them. It was the same sort of numb feeling I got when I went flying and my ears wanted to pop but they wouldn’t. Only now I felt that way all over. Like I was filling with air and about to burst.

  Lieutenant Peppel had his arm around Margaret like it was pretty much the only thing holding her up. Mom gripped Alvin’s hand and mine and looked straight ahead, standing like a rock, pretending she was tough. But when she looked me in the eyes, all that toughness turned to Jell-O and she broke down.

  Then, so did I.

  From behind me I felt a soft, gloved hand on my shoulder. It was the Widow Gorman. She stepped forward and offered me her handkerchief. She was crying, too, but there was a strength in her face that I had never seen before. She squeezed my shoulder and it was then that I realized that the tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks were just like mine. And they hurt just as much to let out. We clutched each other’s hand and held on tight. There was nothing else we could do.