Crazy Lou

by Darrel Bird

senses as sharp as she could make them, but she heard not a sound that humans might make.

  She wondered if something had happened to make them run, and leave their belongings. She held her bag in front of her as she walked out the door to a path that led to a set of stairs. The stairs had iron railings that disappeared down the steep bank that led to the River. She slowly, taking a step at a time, and then listening, descended the stairs to the stream bank level. She could look up at the floor of the room she had left, and the great wheel descended through the floor. She looked around the level at the trees that stood on the bank, and then she saw a figure sitting leaning against a tree no more than fifteen feet away. Her heart lept into her throat when she saw it. She was afraid to call out. She stood there frozen to the spot, but the figure did not move even one little bit.

  She eventually got up the nerve to move closer, six inches at a time, her eyes adjusting to the shady scene around her. She heard a bird chirping in a distant tree across the River. She got to about ten feet of the person, and then she saw why it did not move. The arm was lying on the ground, and the hand clutched a pistol. Her eyes followed the arm up and she saw the side of the head partly blown away, and then she saw the eyes staring up at the heavens. Her eyes followed the stare, and through the leaves and tree branches she saw the clouds floating as if great ships plied the oceans of air, going about their business in their heavenly sanctity.

  She saw he was a young man no more than twenty or twenty five, “I suppose I need to bury you young man, but I don’t have the strength to do it. Do you suppose I could have your belongings? No…on second thought I should leave you here at peace under your tree. It is such a peaceful place by the water.”

  She turned to slog back up the stairs with the help of the rails. She felt the cold steal of the rails as she pulled herself up the stairs. Back in the room she went to the back pack, and began going through it. She pulled out a shirt, some pants she held up to her, and she thought they might fit, the legs being a bit long, but she could clip those off with her scissors. In the bottom of the bag she found two cans of Pork and Beans, a can of corned beef hash, and a good can opener. In a side pocket she found two candy bars. In the past she had to hack any cans of food she found with a knife. She hadn’t found many cans, and this seemed to her like heaven had opened up, and poured food out to her, “Thank you angel.” She looked over at the white angel with loving eyes.

  When she got a can of the Pork and Beans open, she grabbed her spoon out of her pocket, and began shoveling the beans into her mouth. She reached over to the back pack, and unhooked an aluminum canteen. She shook it, hearing the canteen slosh; she opened it and smelled it. It smelt like whiskey. She upended the canteen, and swallowed, coughing and gagging with the strong liquid, but she soon caught her breath, “Easy with that stuff Crazy Lou or you’ll be down by the River puking your guts up.” Her voice sounded loud in the silence of the cabin. She put the cap on the canteen, and retrieved her water bottle out of her bag. She walked to the great wheel and held it under the oaken cups. She soon had her water bottle full, and she drank deeply. She belched, and broke wind, “Now that is un-lady like, I am so sorry angel, I shall try to fart quietly in the future.”

  “I have to stay here and rest awhile as I am unable to continue, I hope angel, that you do not mind if I take the young mans belongings? He seems to have fled this earth for reasons of his own, and doesn’t need them at the moment.”

  The sleeping bag was in good shape, and she zipped it up around her. Her arms felt too bound up with them inside so she laid her arms out over the bag. She reached over for her bag, and laid that under her head for a pillow, “I hope you don’t mind angel?”

  She lay warm in the red sleeping bag. It was not yet sundown as her tired and worn body soaked in the heat. Her muscles began to relax as the whiskey took over. She reached for the canteen, and took another couple sips. She wasn’t a drinker, but the medicinal purposes she knew well. It killed the pain in her legs, feet, and bound up muscles, and gave her a time of rest, although she knew it dulled her senses.

  As the whiskey took further hold her body relaxed out, and she lay there looking around at the walls of the cabin. She was not sleepy. She stared up at the ceiling and then declared; “Now I have to pee! For goodness sakes, one part wants to rest and the other part wants to pee!” She reluctantly unzipped the sleeping bag, and struggled to the door of the cabin. She looked furtively around, and then squatted by a bush. When she was again ensconced in the warm bag, her mind wandered to the past. She remembered she was a school teacher. She remembered the classes of young students before her as she taught them math. She had loved teaching. Sometimes the children were unruly, but she didn’t mind.

  Her mind then wandered to her home, and she remembered her two children. They had been on the outskirts of Portland in a homeless camp when the soldiers came. They had shot her children, and every one else in the camp. Why hadn’t they shot her? Oh yes, she remembered, she had hidden behind some thick bushes. After the soldiers had loaded themselves on the truck, she had walked out from where she had hidden. Everyone was dead. She had howled out her grief for her children, but no one came to comfort her. Then she had found the glass angel, there at her feet the light reflected from it, and she had picked it up. She had rubbed the tiny angel between her fingers, her mind fled and she was comforted by the blessed distance. She had lost the glass angel somewhere between Salem, and Portland.

  She had seen soldiers gathering up people off the streets of Portland, Salem and Astoria as she wandered up, and down the roads, but they didn’t bother her, it was as if they didn’t see her, although they looked right at her, and passed on with their rifles raised. They shot some of the people, and she didn’t know why. She fled from the homeless camps when the soldiers came to load people into their trucks, and take them away. After they were gone, she would return to the camps to pick them over for bits of food, clothing or other useful items. Soon the soldiers quit coming, and she was beaten, and raped by the men who found her. She learned to stay to herself, and she learned to kill those who threatened her in any way, so they called her Crazy Lou.

  Planes came over and dropped papers that said to go to Eugene and get a chip for food. She had seen a man in one of the homeless camps that had one of the tiny chips embedded in the back of his hand, and he had told them there wasn’t any food, and that people were starving to death by the thousands. She certainly didn’t want to go where there was thousands of people, as the angel had whispered to her to stay clear of people, and don’t go near them.

  Her eyes came open to the light coming through the window. What had awakened her so suddenly though? She heard voices dimly, but she knew it wasn’t her mind taken flight again. She felt better, stronger this morning. She heard the voices getting stronger, and she knew they were coming toward the house. She had thrown the large wooden latch last night. She thought she could make out the voice of a child.

  A knocking came on the door, and she called, “Go away or I’ll hurt you! This is my place! I don’t want to hurt you, but this is my place! I found it first!”

  The voice came again, “We don’t want to hurt you, or you too hurt us. Please. The child needs rest and shelter, and we can’t go on.”

  “The soldiers shoot children, and they will shoot you if I do not kill you myself!”

  The voice came again, “I fear you have been hurt before, but I assure you we don’t want to hurt you; can’t you show some kindness? Is there room left in your heart for kindness?”

  She took the straight razor from her bag with shaking hands, and as her hand passed over the bag the angel whispered in her head, “Let them in, they are not mean people like the others.”

  “My angel says you can come in.”

  A hand pushed against the door, and the door rattled against the wooden latch.

  “Can you open the door for us?”

  “Oh yes, the latch. How forgetful of me.”

  She walked slo
wly over to the door, flipped the latch, and jumped back away from the door. She held the straight razor high as they came through the door. The man stopped when he saw the razor, and the ragged woman with wild eyes that held it.

  “Please ma’am. We don’t mean you any harm.”

  She stared at the couple; the man was skinny, as was the woman. The man had a bushy beard, and soft brown eyes. The woman was brown haired, and had a somewhat cute face, the child favored both of them. They both had back packs on. She slowly lowered the razor.

  “That’s my sleeping bag over there, and the back pack too, dead man left it for me. You can’t take it, it’s mine.”

  “Dead man?” The couple stared at her.

  “He’s down by the River under his own tree, he says he doesn’t want to be buried.”

  The man slowly lifted the straps off his back pack, and laid the pack against the wall, the woman followed suite. He gave a sigh of relief, and rubbed his shoulders, “No matter how you soften the straps these things cut in like a knife after a few