The Bird
A. G. GERSDORF
My wife always loved to see her name in the newspaper. Now her face was spread across every front page in Florida. Too bad she wasn't alive to see it.
Rhoda should have died in bed. That was more her style. She could have lingered for months with some illness, propped up by pillows with a poodle on her lap. She'd have enjoyed dying like that.
Instead Rhoda was crushed to death when the bleachers collapsed during a water-ballet show on campus.
The university flag flew at half-mast.
The school president went on television to say how sorry he was. He failed to mention that the bleachers had killed his only daughter. Knowing Snider, he was too busy worrying about lawsuits from the relatives of all the other people who died.
He probably figured that since I was his son-in-law, I wouldn't sue his precious university. He was right not to worry. My wife was dead, and I never felt better in my life.
The funeral fell on one of those heavy, gray days that look as if the sun has disappeared forever.
"Nice and gloomy,'' I thought. "Rhoda would like this."
Maybe a hundred people showed up. They were mostly students and Snider relatives whose names I couldn't recall. I put on a sad face and kept to myself. No one bothered me.
The minister led a solemn ceremony. I wondered if he knew that most of the words he spoke were lies.
"Rhoda Ann Snider was a warm, loving woman," he said in a voice dripping with regret. A hundred heads nodded.
She was cruel and spiteful, I said to myself.
"Her family always came first," he told us.
She was the most selfish creature on earth.
"Each of us will miss her deeply," he concluded.
I'm so glad she's gone.
When my turn came to give a final farewell at the open casket, I studied Rhoda's dead face.
Ten years ago those fat cheeks had been slender. Her voice, once husky and attractive, later grew harsh and cutting. She used to laugh then. Now I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard Rhoda laugh. She'd been too busy nagging to enjoy life. Or perhaps nagging had made her happy.
I should have known from the very beginning how things would be with us. While most brides are willing to change their names, mine laughed in my face.
"Culpepper!" she'd sneered. "Rhoda Culpepper! Tell me, Daaavid, doesn't that sound like a cartoon character? Well, no one is going to laugh at me! The Snider name is important in this town. And I won't give it up to sound like a cartoon character!"
I didn't argue with her. And I never criticized her. Even when she gained a lot of weight from giving in to her one weakness--- stuffing chocolates of all kinds into her mouth. Survival instinct made me keep my mouth shut---except about Alex. I admit to snapping back when she wanted to drive off my cat. Someone had abandoned the poor fellow on campus. I took him home and insisted he stay.
"He'll eat poor Patty!" Rhoda shouted. But I stood firm. Alex couldn't have cared less about her loudmouthed mynah bird. But that didn't stop my wife from complaining about my "fleabag" cat whenever she got the chance.
And we fought once about my career. Before we were married, we'd spent hours discussing the future. First I would finish my degree in agriculture. Then we'd move to upstate New York, to my family's farm in Albany. That's why I'd come here to study---to learn about farming and raising horses.
Rhoda thought the idea was wonderful--- until after we were married. Then, suddenly, she told me I had to change my major to English literature, which was her major. She was older and already finishing up her master's degree, so she could help me. Then I would get a job as a teaching assistant on campus---her father would see to that. He was university president, she reminded me.
"I'm a farmer," I protested weakly. "I can't see myself teaching English courses."
I talked my way out of English literature, but she made me change over to ecology. "You can study forests and lakes," she explained. "That's much more respectable than messing around with cows and fertilizer."
She won in the end, as usual.
Her father arranged a position for me at a generous salary. But I don't think he was too happy with me. I'm not a good teacher. I mumble from note cards. I even blush at the worst times.
Rhoda seemed happy, however. The moment she received her Ph.D., she lost her ambition and turned into a housewife. She was perfect for the job. Our apartment shone brighter than the campus clinic.
We never talked about children. Rhoda probably didn't want to share the spotlight with kids. My father-in-law didn't mention them, either. The university was his baby.
The subject of children just never came up.
Dark clouds that shadowed the funeral finally burst into rain. I turned my back on Rhoda's grave and walked toward home. A few people murmured their sympathies, and William Randolph Snider shook my hand. He didn't seem very upset. Maybe he knew more about his daughter than he ever let on. Could he have been blind to her faults? Parents sometimes are. But it really didn't matter anymore.
I watched my feet as they sloshed through the puddles. I should have worn rubbers over my shoes. Rhoda would have made me wear them.
The next morning, Alex woke me by scraping his tongue across my nose. The apartment seemed too quiet, but it was a nice quiet. I hadn't had a quiet morning in years.
I stretched under the covers and rubbed Alex's ears while he purred. There was no point in jumping up. President Snider had given me the week off as a mourning period. I should have been working, since I certainly wasn't mourning. But it felt good to sleep in.
I finally got out of bed and made breakfast. Alex sat on the table beside me, nibbling ham and eggs from his saucer.
He seemed to enjoy the freedom, too.
Maybe he remembered all the times Rhoda yelled at him to get off the furniture. When he'd had enough of her insults, Alex simply stalked from the room. Then she'd turn on me. "David! Get that beast out of my home this instant. Or I'll call the pound and have him put to sleep!"
Now Alex could go wherever he wanted. I tossed another hunk of ham onto his plate and stroked his neck. Suddenly our peace was shattered by a piercing scream.
"Daaavid!"
Rhoda's voice bounced through the apartment. My fork clattered to the floor. Alex fled.
I'd forgotten about "pretty" Patty, my wife's mynah bird. That horrible animal had Rhoda's voice down perfectly. My spine tingled even as I laughed at my fear.
"It's just the bird," I said to myself. "Just a stupid bird." I turned around. The bird was perched in its cage in a corner of the living room.
"Pretty Patty, pretty Patty!" the mynah hollered. "Pick up your socks! Eat your lunch! You're too thin!"
This time the voice didn't bother me so much. I stepped up to the cage and glared at the bird. It glared at me.
"Patty's a dopey name," I remarked as if the thing were a person. "We don't even know if you're a girl. Your name is Mac now. At least that has character. And you're going to learn some new material. I'm tired of being bossed around."
It screeched in my face. I jerked backward and nearly fell.
"Stop it!" I shouted. "That's enough noise. You've got to learn manners. I'm your master now."
The bright yellow beak opened, but no words came out.
"That's better." I went to get it food.
A colorful pail held a mixture of sunflower seeds, cracked corn, and some other things I didn't recognize. I carried a scoopful to the cage and cautiously opened the wire door.
"Get away," I warned, but Mac didn't listen. A streak of black and yellow lunged at me. Seed scattered over the floor. I yelled out in pain and grabbed my bleeding hand just as the mynah whipped past my ear.
With frantic flaps of its wings, Ma
c tore around the apartment. It battered against the windows as if it were trying to break its silly neck.
Alex sat on the couch, amused.
I obviously couldn't catch the bird in my bare hands and return it to the cage. Blood dripped down my wrist and onto my robe.
I tied up the wound with a dish towel.
Mac crashed back and forth. I closed the drapes to keep it from committing suicide against the glass. I sat down next to Alex. Mac circled madly over our heads. We waited for the mynah to tire out and land, but it didn't.
After half an hour, I could take no more. Tugging aside the drapes, I shoved open the glass door leading onto the front porch. Like a shot, the bird went right over my shoulder and out of sight.
With the show over, Alex slid off the couch and between my feet. He hopped onto the porch rail, and then jumped down to the grass below. Maybe he was going to hunt for birds. But he was too smart to tangle with a crazy mynah.
Within twenty-four hours, all that quiet had gotten on my nerves. My job was on hold, and I had no wife telling me what to do. I killed time by wandering from room to room.
How I missed the farm! What I needed now was a riverbank to flop on, or a horse to brush down with a currycomb. I'd even welcome an afternoon tinkering under the hood of the family pickup.
What I didn't need was six more days of boredom.
"I've got to return to work,'' I said out loud to no one. It felt good to break that awful quiet.
"What's the matter with you?" Nick Lansky demanded when I burst into his office.
Good old Nick. Professor Lansky was the head of the ecology department and my boss. He and his wife were also the only friends Rhoda ever let me have.
"Nick, listen. I'm going out of my mind alone at home. Is there any work you could give me? Papers to correct or errands to run?"
"You're supposed to be in mourning," he said.
Nick Lansky was no fool. We never talked much about my marriage, but I don't think he liked my wife. Few people did.
His own wife, Sally, was as different from Rhoda as night from day.
I answered honestly. "I'm more bored than grief-stricken."
He nodded his head. "Have you spoken with Snider yet?"
Nick clicked his tongue. "I thought not," he replied as I just stood there silently. "As far as I'm concerned, you'd be welcome. With midterm exams next week, there's panic in the ivy halls. But you'll have to clear it with President Snider first."
I wanted to plead with him to do the dirty work for me. But Nick's lips pressed into a stern line. I knew better than to ask him.
Heavy rain fell as I made my way outside and headed across campus. As I flipped up the collar of my jacket, I noticed the shoes I was wearing. They were black oxfords, which I loathed.
"Force of habit," I said to myself. I decided to pick up a pair of comfortable loafers later that afternoon. Rhoda wasn't around anymore to tell me what to wear.
I was cutting through a small park in the middle of campus when I heard her.
"Daaavid. David!"
I threw my head back with alarm.
"She's alive!" I thought.
Then I saw it, staring at me from a low hanging branch: Rhoda's mynah bird. Raindrops rolled off its feathers.
"Get lost," I growled and kept on walking.
"Daaavid."
I spun on my heels. The bird seemed to be leaning forward, watching me closely. I moved as near as I dared, not wanting another attack.
"Look, Mac," I said, trying to be reasonable. "Don't make a pest of yourself. You're free now. Go fly somewhere, or I'll give you to the biology department. They'd love to see your insides."
The yellow beak snapped. "Wipe your feet! Sit up straight!"
I had to smile. The dumb animal imitated Rhoda's voice so well. It was like hearing her again, forever complaining about one thing or another. Yet my wife was dead, and Mac here was just a clever bird.
"Shut up, Mac," I said with enthusiasm. Maybe I never had the nerve to talk back to Rhoda. But I could talk back to her bird.
"Daaavid," the bird called.
I ignored it and kept going.
"David!" it shouted. "Why did you kill me?"
I ran then, as fast as I could. I forgot all about President Snider and my request. I ran home instead. And I locked the door behind me.
For twenty-four hours that bird sat on the porch rail outside the glass doors. I kept the drapes shut, but I knew it was there. I could feel it. I could feel those terrible beady eyes.
It talked to itself. The words didn't quite come through the thick glass. I wanted to know what it was saying, but I didn't dare open the door.
"Rhoda's dead," I thought, burning with anger, "and her bird is keeping me prisoner!"
My problem was ridiculous. I couldn't let a little bird push me around, could I? But I did. My fear seemed childish. But looking at the mynah, I saw only Rhoda. Her dark eyes had flashed just like the bird's while one complaint after another spilled out of her mouth.
And I was afraid of its question, "Why did you kill me?" Rhoda wouldn't have taught the bird to say that. The words didn't make sense. And the bird itself was very much alive, so why ask who killed it?
Was Rhoda talking through the bird? Even if she were, the question still didn't make sense. I had nothing to do with the stadium bleachers collapsing. At the time of the accident, I was in the teacher's lounge. There were witnesses, too.
The police found no sign of foul play. So what did the bird mean?
And why did I feel so guilty?
When the telephone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I covered my ears for three rings, and then snatched it up on the fourth. My voice trembled.
Nick didn't bother to say hello. "President Snider tells me he hasn't heard from you. Is there a problem?"
I searched for an answer. I couldn't very well tell him a mynah bird held me at "beak-point."
"I changed my mind." I think he knew I was lying.
Nick cleared his throat. I braced myself for one of his fatherly lectures. "David, I think you need help," he said. "Sally and I would like to drop by this evening."
I thought of a dozen reasons to hold them off. Each one seemed worse than the last. But the truth sounded stranger than anything I could make up to delay their visit.
"I'm tired," I said at last. "Maybe another time."
"We'll be there around 8:30," he said firmly. He hung up before I could object.
The room was getting dark as evening came on. I wondered if the bird were still perched on the porch rail. I peered through a crack in the drapes.
Mac stared right at me. Tiny hairs prickled on the back of my neck.
"I'm going nuts," I thought.
Then I asked myself, "Why are you going nuts? Because a lousy bird is making you stay inside?"
Rhoda was right. I was a wimp. First she bossed me around, and now her bird was driving me nuts.
A rap on the kitchen door dropped me to earth like a rock.
"Who is it?" I called through the door, feeling more cowardly than ever.
"Sally. Sally Lansky."
Nobody could imitate that voice. I slid the bolt and opened the door.
Sally stood on the step with her arms wrapped around a loaded shopping bag. She shoved it into my arms and brushed inside. I set the bag on the counter.
"Nick says you invited us over this evening. I'm so glad to hear you're all right."
I wondered to myself who was fibbing, Nick or Sally.
She smiled. "I bet you haven't eaten a proper meal since the accident. I came over early to fix your dinner."
I didn't argue with Sally. In a much nicer way, she was as bossy as my dead wife. She studied me as she scooped packages of food out of the bag.
"What an incredible change, David! I wouldn't have recognized you on the street---not in a million years."
I looked down at myself and saw what she meant. My outfit was more than ten years old. Rhoda had hated what she c
alled my "farm rags"---blue jeans and T-shirts.
"You're a teacher now," Rhoda had lectured again and again. "You have an image to keep up."
T-shirts and sneakers weren't tolerated, not even in Florida's heat. For ten years I sweated in suits and sports jackets.
Now I was wearing my "farm rags."
I didn't need to explain to Sally. The sympathy showed in her eyes. Although we'd never talked about Rhoda, I think she understood my problem.
As if she were reading my mind, Sally said softly, "I'm more sorry for you than for Rhoda. That sounds cruel, but it's the truth."
I hugged her. It felt good to hug someone who cared.
"It's dark as a cave in here," she said. "Why are you all closed up?" She crossed the room and ripped aside the drapes.
The bird was gone. If Sally heard me choke, she paid no attention to it.
"Listen, dearie," she said. "I brought your favorite foods. Relax while I throw something together."
The kitchen was just off the living room, so we could chat while she cooked. The bird on the porch was forgotten.
"Nick and I ate already, but I'll keep you company," she said when she'd finished cooking. "Sit down, sit down!"
I sat. Caesar salad, prime rib nicely pink, asparagus, baked potato with cheese---this feast was hardly "thrown together." She placed three glasses on the table and filled two of them with wine.
"You're a great cook," I said as I ate.
The doorbell rang just as I wiped a napkin across my mouth and sighed. Sally jumped up. "That's Nick."
She swung open the door and kissed her husband on the cheek. Nick just nodded at me. He didn't appear happy.
I was glad Rhoda wasn't here to spoil things. The few times the Lanskys visited, Rhoda had smiled as if her teeth hurt. It vanished the moment they left.
"Sally acts as if she's 15," Rhoda would say. "And Nick is duller than eggplant."
But I liked them a lot. Nick had helped me over and over as I stumbled through teaching. Sally was always cheerful and fun.
The only reason Rhoda put up with the Lanskys was that they were important on campus. Her father favored Nick with a closeness he didn't share with ordinary teachers. Sally even called Rhoda's father "Willy," which Rhoda thought showed a terrible lack of respect.
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