by Brad Watson
-Yes, she whispered.
If she held on tight to Pappy she would not disappear without him, he would be with her there, where they went.
Pappy said, -It’s a miracle has happened, Birdie.
She looked at him. In the disappearing light he was becoming darker, a shade lingering here on the earth. Within the soft glow of his beard and hair she could barely see his pale eyes.
Pappy said, -Your mama has given us a new little girl. When you get back to your house you’ll see. And then, as her eyes became used to the darkening light, she could see him, like a child himself, somehow changed.
And that was when Pud had been born. In the last wisp of light from behind the trees they had walked holding hands back into the lamplit house and stood over little Lucy asleep in the middle of Pappy and Mamaw’s bed and looked at her sleeping face.
-Another beautiful child in the world, like little Lucy here, but just a tiny baby, brand-new, Pappy said, and he stroked Birdie’s hair. -In the morning, we’ll all go see her.
She was so happy he had not gone away, the world had not ended in the beautiful moment in the garden, that she began to cry. He held her in his arms, shushing her, and took her into the kitchen, where Mamaw fussed over her and fussed at Pappy for telling her stories and scaring her so. The way he’d point to a plant and say, This here’s hemlock, what they used to do away with their enemies in Shakespeare’s day and so on. I ever get sick and out of my mind, you bring it to me, in a little tea.
Rrraaack! Mockingbird squawking at her again.
-Sing like the songbirds, that’s what you’re supposed to do.
The bird cocked his head.
-Go on!
Ooodle oo! Mocking her again.
Pud was so funny, when they was little girls, once learned the f-word and went around saying it when the grown-ups weren’t there, till one morning when she’d waked up at dawn and was all by herself in the wide-awake world she heard this old crow cawing outside the window, sounded like he was saying fuck! fuck!, and it scared her so she ran into Mama and Papa’s room crying, -I’ll never say it again!
PEOPLE DIDN’T KNOW what she’d lived through in her life—if Finus Bates was to write the truth in her obituary it’d be an outrage. She told him once, said, I have suffered pain, insult, treachery, I guess nothing’ll kill you till the Lord gets set to take you. Finus said, Well some say you’re left here for a purpose, and she said, Well I wish He’d let me know just what that is so I can do it and hurry up and go. And Finus just laughed and said, Well you know I don’t believe such junk anyway. Well I do, she said, or I did, anyway. I don’t know why I’m still here, anymore, I feel so bad.
That Levi. The night Earl had the attack, before he died, Levi was to pick up some five hundred dollars in shoes in Memphis and bring them down to the Mercury store, and they never did get delivered. Already paid for. Birdie was at the Auxiliary weeks later, saw Hettie Martin wearing a pair of their shoes and said, Oh, you’re wearing some of our shoes, and she says, Yes, Levi sold them to me, said he was helping y’all out. But they never saw any of that money, Levi just took advantage of all the confusion and stole them. Then turned around to the executor and said, I know Earl! I know Birdie! Lawyer said I don’t care what you say, Levi, Earl had a son, you are not named in this will. Then the cut-out letters start, they’re going to dig Earl up and do an autopsy, on and on. Oh, it was terrible.
Merry was the worst of the lot in a way but she never really expected any money out of Earl after he’d died. Levi was greedy but with Merry it was more about mischief and mean practical jokes. She got mad at Earl one time and went down to the florist and sent bunches of flowers to this friend and that, in the hospital and here and there, and said just send the bill to Earl Urquhart, my brother. Earl said Goddamn, R.W., I’m not going to pay for that! And R.W. said I know it Earl, I’ll pay for it.
He was the sweetest man, R.W was, and Merry did him so wrong. That time he was laid up in the hospital, and said, Well, one thing I know, Merry’d never cheat on me. Well. He was a good man, and made good money selling insurance, made the million-dollar club every year. But didn’t have a clue. He never did know about the time Mr. Grant who had the appliance store downtown come by one day when Earl was out of town, said to Birdie, -Mrs. Urquhart I hate to talk to you about this but I got to talk to somebody, and I thought it might be better if you told Earl about it. I figure he might know how to handle it, but if I tell him he’d just get mad.
Well she, Merry, had been running around with his partner, Mr. Ethridge, and Mr. Grant says, Mrs. Urquhart, he’s leaving money underneath the carpet there at the store for her, where she can come in and act like she’s browsing—browsing washing machines, now!—and reach down like to scratch her heel and get that money. She’s said if he don’t, she said, I’ll go to your front door and tell your wife what you done.
Not to mention what she did to Finus, all that mess.
-Now, I’m telling you, Birdie told Claudevelyn Peacock, who’d come by early that morning with a chicken and rice casserole and given it to Creasie in the kitchen and come on back to her bedroom, I’m telling you, you may not remember but now Merry was a beautiful woman. She could’ve been a movie star, I mean she really could.
-Oh, I know it, I remember her, she used to scare me the way she’d just look at you, Claudevelyn said, leaning forward with her hands on her flabby knees. She’d done something to her hair, Birdie thought, or maybe hadn’t done anything, or tried and couldn’t, anyway it was standing up like she’d put a little box on her head and slept in it. Had a good color, though, strong salt-and-pepper, her own hadn’t been anything but pure gray since her sixties.
-That’s right, like old Jane Russell, kind of, just a sexpot.
-Oh, yeah, honey, Claudevelyn said. She leaned back in the chair beside the bed and sucked her teeth and looked off like her mind was wandering to something. -Land, yes, she said.
She woke up at some point, Claudevelyn gone.
Earl said one day, I don’t see—she told him about Mr. Ethridge the night after Mr. Grant came by, and he said Why didn’t you tell me sooner? and she said I just couldn’t—but Earl said, I don’t see what people see in her. Well, she was just charming as she could be, kept her hair long and was pretty. But you know what Earl said about her, said her breath smelled terrible, he said I don’t see how anybody could kiss her, her breath smells just like s-h-i-t. And it did. You could walk into the room and you could smell Merry’s breath. Birdie didn’t know why it was and couldn’t see herself how anybody stood it, she couldn’t ever stand to smell bad breath. It comes through your gums and they can be treated. Earl’s breath never did smell like that, he smelled so much like cigarettes. But then he had his own problem, with the stinky feet. She’d been with Earl when he’d be opening new stores and wouldn’t take his shoes off for two or three days, then come home and his feet smelled like, oh, something awful—she’d pick up his shoes and set them outside, she couldn’t stand it. They finally quit smelling that way, but you keep your shoes on for days like that and your feet smell—well you don’t know how bad they can smell.
Well she never thought life would be so full of meanness and disappointment. She hadn’t been prepared for it.
They’d had the best time at night, when she was a little girl. The house had a big room with a fireplace, and they’d all get in a circle around that fireplace. And Uncle Will was an old bachelor, he’d come down, he lived just a hop and a skip down the road, just a garden between, when you looked you saw the big bright yellow faces of sunflowers looking back. He’d come walking down through the sunflower stalks, singing, and she and Lucy and Pud would play tricks on him all afternoon. One time put some water up over the door and it spilled on him. And put pins in the chair cushion, he’d sit on it. He was one of those old grouches, wouldn’t want to laugh: Ain’t you got no better sense than to do things like that? But you could see how he was tickled about it.
The neighbors had an o
ld white horse named George stayed out in the pasture, and when she’d wake up in the morning sometimes she could look out in the field, sun just up, and see George out there and somehow it made her feel good. She couldn’t remember what happened to him, they must have sold him. She took to a baby goat Papa had and went out to the barn with Papa one day and he got angry and had a hammer in his hand and he slung it, didn’t even know the poor thing was standing there, and the little goat just fell over dead. Hit him in the head. They didn’t even dress it out. It wasn’t a pet or anything but it made everybody sad. Once she got up onto George and rode him out into the pasture and he went under a tree and nearly knocked her off. She was always scared of a horse after that. Earl wanted to get all of them a horse. Well he did have one—a beautiful mare—there was a way you’d pull her and she’d rare, and she’d rare up with the kids, and scare her to death. And Earl was going to break that horse. It’s a wonder he didn’t have a stroke over there one day. He got so mad at that horse he led her out into the lake up in the woods behind the house, that horse had to hold her head way up, Earl was just going to drown her. That’s how he was then. Why in the world he didn’t have a stroke right then, his face was so red.
He had a temper like a lion! But he’d get over it.
She could hear a gentle swishing in the trees. Could be rain, coming.
When they’d go out to that lake Edsel and Janie’s little Robert would say, wasn’t but about three, -Su-u-re is a lot of horse grunt around here. A little boy then, now long gone in the car wreck. What was the good in her living so long, when such things happen to young people? It just wasn’t right your children and even grandchildren should die before you. Finus would know about that.
She couldn’t hear. She’d heard thunder last night, oh, it was so loud one time. It’s funny about hearing, the way it goes. She finally got her hearing aid to work right, got it to squeak, but that lady down at the nursing home said she just took hers out, said she’d heard enough already. Earl used to sell that woman shoes, and she never would listen, and he just quit selling to her, he said he’d rather not have her business than to misfit her.
She knew he opened that store down in Tallahassee so he could be with Ann, she knew that.
-Miss Bird?
Old Creasie sticking her black head in the door.
-No, I’m all right, now just go on!
Merry even wrote that book, nobody would publish it, all about the family, and made Birdie out to be someone who pretended to be dumb but was really devious. Well she might have let them think she was dumb, but she wasn’t devious, she just wasn’t going to have all that fussing and fighting, the Urquharts did enough of that among themselves. And Earl knew she knew what was going on. Every now and then he’d come to her crying, You’re the best woman in the world! No woman’d put up with me but you! Things like that. Crying. I’ll never do it again! She didn’t say anything much, but naturally it killed something in you. She loved him but she didn’t respect him too much.
You know the first train that come through up there where Earl was born, where they lived when he was a boy, said it scared him so bad he run in and got under the bed. He used to tell the story. Little boy, he was. He was born in 1899. Maybe they’d all been different if the times had been different. These days nobody thought anything about sex, but back then it wasn’t so common, so maybe those Urquharts were just ahead of their time that way. Except with them it was more like couldn’t think of anything but sex. Peggy one time, she was Levi’s oldest daughter, and she told her mama, Rae, never will forget, she said old Junius Urquhart felt up under her dress. The idea of such a thing, and his own granddaughter, too. And the old man said, Aw, she’s just lying. But Birdie knew now it was true because just about three weeks before Ruthie died she told Birdie and Pud that he did her the same way when she was a little girl. Birdie said, Why didn’t you tell us before now? Said, Ruthie, that’s ruined your life and you hadn’t ever told us anything about it.
Now that old man could have done well by his family if he’d wanted to. He was a good insurance man, but all he cared about was chasing women. One time he put Edsel on his lap and was talking to him, before Edsel knew it big tears was rolling down his grandfather’s face, and Edsel was a sensitive child, you know, and he started crying too before you know it, and he says, What’s wrong, Grampaw? And old Junius says, Son, nothing’s wrong, that has sold me more insurance than anything in the world. That’s what he’d do, you know, in the Depression. Go into people’s houses and when they wouldn’t buy insurance he’d start to cry, say That’s all right, he knew times was tough, he could hardly feed his own family, he never knew when they’d be out on the street, and so on, and they’d buy a little bit. He worked hard, but he wasn’t honest.
My lands they was all bad, Earl too, but she held her head up and acted like she didn’t know a thing in the world because listen she knew that she could not work and make a living, she’d married too young and was spoiled, and she knew Earl would never marry anybody he just slept with, so she let it go. She knew he respected her, in spite of everything. And everybody depended on Earl, everybody looked up to him, never dreamed he’d die as young as he did, just fifty-five years old. And when he died everybody just fell apart. She’d lived almost as long without him as she ever did with him, and got by all right. But Pud’s death like to killed her. And Lucy going like that, on the stairs in her home, and nobody there. And losing Ruthie and Earl and then Robert. Well it wasn’t fair she should have to live through all that, she should have gone before any of them except Earl.
None of the Wells girls turned out well in married life, she guessed, well Pud did but Lucy didn’t. She was so beautiful, Lucy, nothing but a set of big brown eyes in a little birdlike face, and married that silly man couldn’t let go of his mama and then had to just divorce him, and then married that old goat, wasn’t nothing but a servant to him, he wouldn’t take her anywhere. Birdie felt so sorry for her. Pud’s Anton was a good man but he was as crazy as she was, always clacking his teeth out like a cash drawer, the kids just loved it.
There was that mockingbird come back and looking in. If he had any sense he wouldn’t build in the camellia, he’d build in one of the trees in the yard. She loved to climb trees when she was a little girl but once she got up there she’d be too scared to climb down. Never would forget, climbed up in the loft one time and couldn’t get down, and stayed there and worked her stomach till she nearly bled, she was so scared. Always scared of heights but couldn’t help but climb up. Just a birdbrain, she guessed, reason they named her Birdie.
The mockingbird went into his repertoire, so loud it sounded right in her ear.
Sometimes she liked to think she could have poisoned Earl like Levi and Rae said. It was so ridiculous, she liked to think she could have done it. She’d thought she was losing her mind there for a while, would go into the spice cabinet pulling out little spice tins, sniffing, thinking, Did I do something I didn’t even know? She had for a while put boiled sassafras water in his coffee because there was a doctor in Huntsville who’d said it countered the bad effects of tobacco. But she’d stopped because Earl said it tasted so bad. But could it have done some damage before she stopped? It froze her to think so. Levi and Merry had it like some old detective story, like she’d made him scrambled eggs one morning and sprinkled arsenic or—what was it Pappy had in his garden? hemlock—into it, and he’d gobbled it up, gone out and got into the pickup and over to the lake, down to the woodpile to chop some wood, the old mare snuffling up to him wanting some sugar, and fell out, spooking the horse so it ran off across the dam and into the woods. She liked to think sometimes she could have done that, not because she hated him or wanted him to die but just because it’d surprise everybody so, the ones with any sense, who weren’t crazy, it’d be so contrary to their notions about little old Birdie—Merry might have said she was devious but get right down to it she thought she was a birdbrain, too. It’s been so many years since all that, she co
uldn’t even be sure to tell you the truth herself that maybe she didn’t.
Mockingbird was so loud she couldn’t even see, like she was passing through that song into nothing.
Finus Querulous
THAT MORNING, FINUS had steered his old Chevy pickup into the long driveway, two parallel curving shaded wheelpaths of cracked concrete ruptured here and there by the roots of thick tall oaks, and parked beside the old pumphouse beyond which now leaned the stacked empty carapaces of gutted ancient automobiles. They filled the once grassed little meadow between the house and old Creasie’s cabin at the back edge of Earl’s property. But since his death these discarded wrecks had been hauled here for storage from Birdie’s son-in-law’s junkyard across the side road. It was something probably would have driven Earl Urquhart into a rage, him a man so in love with glamorous cars that he’d bought new every year, always paying cash. He’d had him a nice little estate out here, Finus thought as he helped his old collie, Mike, down from the passenger side and together they walked around the house back into the front yard to the main entrance.
He’d held the railing to the broad covered stoop and climbed the old Mexican tile steps, rung the buzzer. Another car went by out on the old highway, its tires slapping a regular rhythm on the tar dividers. In a minute the door to Birdie’s house opened to reveal Creasie, bent over a little. She looked up at him, then cast a scant eye down at Mike, then stood back and held the door open. -Come on in, she said, shooing them, as if they were both old dogs late for a feeding. -She don’t want no company but I imagine she’ll see you. She said the other day she wanted to talk to you. He passed Creasie and nodded down to her, her appraising eye cast up at him, and he took in her old dress cinched up beneath her baggish bosoms and ending at the SlimJim presence of her scrawny shins. Her feet in dilapidated Keds like tattered skiffs with big dusky bunions thrust out either starboard prow.
