by Cary Fagan
And I call back, “In a minute, Gordon!”
God, I hate thinking about it. And maybe I’m wrong, maybe it won’t happen that way. He might get lucky, or it might not be luck at all. Sure, it’s pretty unlikely that he’ll make friends in the next few years, the way it’s going. But adults always like him. He might get an interesting part-time job, like with Mr. Hertz in the pharmacy. Whenever we go in there Mr. Hertz tells me what a smart boy Gordon is with all of his questions. Maybe Mr. Hertz will give him a job behind the soda machine. And Gordon will get interested in problems and why the pharmacist suggests one thing or another, or why the doctor told old Mr. So-and-So to take some pill or other. Gordon will do well in his science classes, as he always has, and his teachers might well encourage him to go on to university. After all, a lot of “weirdo” kids are science-minded, kids who march to their own drummer. So even without having made any friends he might want to go away, and given his good marks he’ll get a scholarship to somewhere like Columbia or Cornell or Harvard. In university there are lots of people like Gordon, people with different ideas, quirky, creative, smart people. He’ll do well and other kids will accept him and like him because he’s generous and willing to help others with their own complicated projects. And an idea that he got way back in Mr. Hertz’s pharmacy will suddenly seem possible, and he’ll apply to medical school and get in. In medical school it doesn’t matter if you’ve got flat feet and can’t catch a ball. The hours will be long but Gordon already has good work habits and likes to focus intensely on whatever he’s doing. He probably won’t be a surgeon — he’s not very good with his hands — but he’ll develop a specialty, like pediatrics, that allows him to deal with people. And while he’s interning, some woman, a nurse maybe, will notice how gentle he is, how patient with people, and how much he’s admired. She’ll realize that he’s awkward with women and doesn’t know how to ask a person out, that she’ll have to help him along, make it seem like his idea to ask her for dinner. Of course with such a big, needy heart, Gordon is going to fall for her. They’ll have to wait until he finishes interning and gets a hospital appointment and maybe joins a practice, and then they’ll come back here for the wedding, not a big wedding but lovely and tasteful. Then they’ll buy a home and she’ll work until the first baby and it’ll be hard for him because of the hours and the demands on him, but every minute he’s not working he’ll be with his family — none of that country-club golfing nonsense for him. And I’ll visit them often and when I’m starting to get frail Gordon and his wife will insist that I move in. They’ll build a little suite off the kitchen with a private bath. And Gordon will be an honoured man in his profession, he’ll have hundreds of grateful patients but will never lose his modesty, and his adoring wife will be at his side and his kids will take him as an example for their own lives. All of that might happen to my wonderful, sweet boy, and now he’s standing and saying, “Mom, Mom, take my picture!” and I grab the camera and start walking over on the warm sand because I want to remember this moment, remember when he’s all grown-up and I’m old and I know the kind of man he’s become and the life he’s made for himself, and I’ll look at the picture and smile and say to myself, That’s my boy.
COME BACK
Who’s a good bird, then? Who’s my special friend?
I am, I’m the good bird.
Yes, that’s it, give me a kiss now. Ah, nice. It’s a beautiful day, got to give you a little airing. Poor bird, cooped up all morning while Florence had to go out. No wonder you pulled apart my sweater.
Hee, hee.
And what did you do with my shell necklace? That was a gift, you know. I’m sorry to have been out so long, but Florence couldn’t help it. Florence does have to work sometimes. How else can I buy all that seed and all those treats?
Bird wants a treat.
Now, didn’t I give you one just a few minutes ago?
Bird wants a treat! Bird wants a treat!
All right, all right. Didn’t you wake up on the wrong side of the perch this morning. Now, how about we go for a little walk and maybe you can fly a bit. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Nice, nice.
Good. Here we go. Look at the spring flowers coming up! They’re so pretty. And the air smells like things coming alive. What is it, why are you cocking your head like that?
Bird hears. Bird hears others.
Yes, I hear them, too. Poor wild birds without a Florence to take care of them.
No Florence?
No Florence, no pull toys or pretty glass marbles or Mozart on the record player. No opening your beak like a baby bird for me to drop something yummy in.
Feed me, feed me!
Yes, that’s just what you say.
I mean now! Feed me now!
Aren’t you greedy this morning? All right, one more. Oh, what’s wrong? Stop that, you can’t fit inside my jacket.
Don’t like, don’t like!
I see now, it’s that falcon circling overhead. And now he’s perched at the very top of that tree. Don’t worry, he won’t come near you while you’re with me. That falcon knows that Florence wouldn’t let anything happen to you.
Why is bad bird?
That’s nature, I suppose. What’s the expression? Red in tooth and claw. It’s ugly. But not with me. Not in your nice house, in your nice cage.
Cage small.
It takes up half the dining room! See, now that bad falcon is flying far away. That’s right, you can stand as tall as you like. See how high the river is from the melted snow? It’s really flowing.
Bird wants to fly.
Why don’t you fly to that bush on the hill and back. That would be fun.
Bird wants to fly high.
That’s not a good idea.
Bird wants to fly far.
We’ve had this conversation too many times. If you fly high something bad might happen. And if you fly far you might never find your way back.
Bird wild! Bird wild!
But that’s just not true, silly. You’re the tamest thing in the world. You like your food and central heating and the doctor when you don’t feel well.
Doctor bad.
You didn’t like the medicine but it made you better, didn’t it? You’re in a funny mood today, I suppose it’s the spring weather. Let’s go back, then. I can fill up your pool for a fun splash.
Bird wants out. Bird wants up. Bird wants, wants, wants . . .
My, oh my. Out with it, then. What do you want?
Bird wants other bird.
Well, haven’t you matured? But you have me. I’m your Florence and you’re my little man.
Bird not little man. Bird is bird. Bird need go bye-bye, see you later, alligator.
You can’t just go off. That would be stupid. The falcons will get you, or the cats. And other birds will chase you and peck at you. Do you know that, do you even know that you’re just a crow? You think you’re the queen of birds, that you’re a bloody peacock? The farmers are going to fire buckshot at you.
Bird go! Bird fly!
No, don’t! Wait, wait! Come back here! Come back right now! You’re a bad bird, a very bad bird. Do you think I’ll wait for you? Do you think I’ll be here in an hour or two or a day or a week? Because I won’t. You can’t do this to me. Oh, please come back, you selfish, horrible . . . Oh God, oh God . . .
Quawk.
What?
Bird come back.
You’re really back?
Bird make joke.
Well, it wasn’t funny. Not at all.
Bird think it a little funny.
I’m going to be sick.
Bird want to go home now.
Yes, let’s go home. I need to sit down.
Bird want to watch Rawhide.
DAY OFF
It was exciting, being a nurse in training, not exactly what I expected,
but then how could it have been? The hours were long, ten- and twelve-hour days. And because we lived inside the hospital, in dormitory rooms, we never really left. All the talk was of work — which doctors were helpful and which to watch out for, who’d gotten blood and guts splashed over her, whether a particular patient died in agony or blessed quiet. And there were silly conversations about which doctor was the best looking, even though we weren’t allowed to date them and would be fired if caught doing so. (Of course the doctors weren’t fired.) But I never had time to think about such things, not when there was so much to learn and sometimes everything happening so fast and there was the need to react, react, react. The other half of it was just enduring. I was so tired those first weeks that I could barely drink my tea, and at bedtime I had to fight falling asleep with my uniform on, which was against the rules (there were so many rules). It got more bearable after the first few weeks, but it was never easy.
We got one day off, which I usually spent studying or else doing all the personal chores that had piled up — mending stockings, writing letters, buying my few necessities. The trainees whose families lived close by would go home for some good meals and the chance to be fussed over, but my family was too far and the best that I could do was take a walk in the city or sit down in a tea room with a book.
One of my patients was a cantankerous man with tuberculosis whose children had gone to Australia. But he had one visitor, a young nephew with no obligation to the man and who received no appreciation for his effort. The nephew’s name was Edgar and he was an apprentice stone carver. His hope was to move back to the village where he was born and get work finishing the church that had been started there in 1740, a job that could keep him going for a lifetime.
Edgar clearly liked me. And he wasn’t so bad looking, either, although his hands were rough as sandpaper and his hairline was already starting to recede. But I let him know, the first time I said good day to him outside the hospital, that I wasn’t looking for a beau, that nurses weren’t allowed to marry, and that it would be many years before I’d be interested in such matters. He looked disappointed but seemed to accept what I said. He told me that he had few friends in the city and would enjoy having someone to join him for a cup of tea or a walk. Well, that was something I thought I would like as well, a friend who wasn’t another nurse going on about work. I agreed to meet him at a tea room on my next day off.
We had a very pleasant time, talking about this and that. He told me about his parents and younger brothers and sisters, whom he clearly adored, and about the undramatic beauty of the country around his village. Talking to him was a holiday in itself. Our days off coincided so we made a habit of meeting, although when we encountered one another in the hospital we retained the formalities of near strangers.
One day over tea Edgar looked agitated, as if he had something on his mind. I got a little concerned that he might make some declaration, but what he finally asked was whether I might like to go for an outing in the country. His village was only two hours away by train and he’d like to show me where he came from. We could travel in the morning and have several hours to stretch our legs before enjoying a meal at his mother’s table. Then we could catch the evening train back. He had already written to his mother and, he hastily added, had informed her that our relationship was strictly a friendship and that the family was not to get any ideas. At first I said absolutely not and acted as indignant as I felt, but Edgar seemed to expect that. We were adults, he said, and although we must be careful to observe proper decorum we were not living in the dark ages. And he was right, I decided, and finally told him yes. We made a plan to meet at the station the next Sunday morning.
I hadn’t been on a train since my placement had begun and it felt a luxury just to sit and watch the passing buildings, then the factories and farms, and then the genuine country. It was a fall day, cool and a little misty, and as we walked away from the small station where the train had barely paused, the clean air was almost a shock to my lungs. We went down the road, climbed over a stile, and began walking across the fields. It was just as Edgar had described it, gentle rises and faded grass, the wildflowers gone until next spring. It felt so large and empty, just a crow overhead, landing surprisingly close to us and looking as if it might say something. We walked on, not talking as much as usual, but every so often I would glance at Edgar and see how happy he was to be in the landscape he knew so well.
The family cottage was just outside the village and when we arrived his mother was putting the meal on the table. She seemed almost too shy to look at me. His father shook my hand and grinned and asked me about my people. Edgar’s brothers and sisters crowded about, excited by the presence of a stranger — a nurse, no less. When we sat down to eat they had all sorts of questions about the bloody wounds and amputations I had seen, while their mother kept telling them to hush. It was very lively and the delicious meal brought — how foolish — sudden tears to my eyes.
Afterwards Edgar’s mother got the courage to ask me to look at one of the children who had something “itching him terrible.” Of course I was glad to take a look and fortunately I had in my bag a tube of ointment that I could leave. It got late enough that Edgar’s father had to take us in the cart to the station — take everyone, in fact, and a jolly group we were. We got to the platform just in time and skipped onto the train and then the whistle went and we moved on.
We waved goodbye and settled into seats in an empty carriage. I was tired from the fresh air and struggled to stay awake. I wondered what sort of day awaited me at the hospital tomorrow. Don’t worry, Edgar said, he would rouse me when we got in. I smiled at him and leaned back and I couldn’t help but let my eyes close.
YOU SEE ALL THAT
How long was that last stretch? Four hours?
Closer to five.
I didn’t think that driver would ever stop and give us a breather. What have we done, thirteen hours in all? And most of it without much scenery. At least we’ve got the water to look at here, and it’s only another six hours or so before we get to your brother’s. I have a pencil, want to play X’s and O’s on the placemat?
No.
Okay. What you going to order?
Pie à la mode.
Nice. I like that, à la mode. A lot of people think it means “with ice cream” but it doesn’t. It means “in the style.” See? Like what’s in fashion. I might as well have the same. What kind of pie you going to have?
There’s only one kind.
No, it says on the menu they’ve got blueberry, cherry, and apple. I can see them on the counter under the domes.
I mean, as far as I’m concerned there’s only one kind.
Ah, right. Apple. Am I correct? You know I am. King of pies. And coffee, got to have me some of that good ol’ java. So what do you think of the others?
What others?
The other people on the bus. You know, who are having a break in here like us. What do you think of them?
I think nothing of them. I wouldn’t even recognize one if I saw him tomorrow.
You kidding? You pulling my leg? Just goes to show how different people are. Me, I’ve noticed every one of them. I could describe them, tell you what they’re wearing, who’s a smoker. I’ve thought all about them — who they are and what they’re doing on this bus. Oh yes, I’ve got my ideas.
I bet you do.
Sure. For example, that fellow in the old derby. Haven’t seen a hat like that in years. Scratching himself like he’s got some sort of skin ailment, putting on some cream. He works for a carny operation or sideshow, maybe. Keeps a greasy deck of cards in his pocket. He’s probably got two weeks off and is going to see his grown-up daughter who hasn’t spoken to him in years.
You see all that.
I can’t swear to it but I do. I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to. Every face tells a story. How about that bunch of women travelling together? From some hick to
wn for sure. Been friends for years. And now they’re going to the funeral of one of them that got married and moved away, and although they’re sad they can’t help having a laugh, saying things that men don’t even suspect they’re capable of thinking. Having a good time, they are.
Is that so.
Then there’s that man with the moustache. Thinks a lot of himself, he does. Not that he’s got much money, you can tell by his suit. But he has other attributes. A scientific mind. Likes working out problems in his head, figuring the distance between two mountain peaks or how to get a ship in a bottle. He’s convinced that one day he’ll be known to all of us, like the guy who invented the electric blanket. Well, good luck to him.
If you’re so smart then tell me something. Who do you think is carrying the most money?
Hmm, that’s a good one. Let me see. Because it’s not always obvious, no siree. For example, that lady in the silk dress. I mean, look at the work on it, must have cost a pretty penny. You might think she has a wad of dough in her handbag given her get-up. But you’d be wrong. Oh, she has ten or twelve bucks to get her through the trip. She spent her money on that dress because she wants to impress somebody. If she was rich she’d have good shoes on, too, not those old things. Maybe there’s a job in the city she’s hoping to get so she needs to make the right impression, show she can mingle with the hoity-toity.
All right, not her. But who, then?
Him. That old guy in the beat-up jacket and crumpled hat. He’s got the most.
I can’t see it myself.
Ha! Of course you can’t — you don’t have my eye. Sure, he’s frugal. He doesn’t waste his money. But look at that old leather case he’s clutching in his lap. He hasn’t let it go for one second, not even when he was dozing off on the bus. Maybe he’s coming back from selling his farm to some Easterners or he’s delivered a supply of moonshine. Could be he’s borrowed the money to buy a prize breeding bull or a thresher. Wherever the money came from, it’s in that case.
