Traveling Light

by Thalasinos, Andrea

  “So they tell me,” he said absentmindedly, gathering forms for her to sign.

  “What kind of law do you practice?”

  “Have a seat,” he said. It felt like being in Christoff’s office.

  She down sat in a leather chair opposite the desk. Photos of birds covered the walls.

  “Did you take these?”

  He turned as if having forgotten what was hanging on the wall behind him.

  “Some. Here, sign where I’ve indicated.” He pointed to yellow stickers with red arrows. It felt like she was buying another car.

  “What’s this?”

  “Waiver of liability.”

  “For what?”

  “If you get hurt on the job.”

  “I’m not expecting to.”

  “No one expects to.”

  She looked up at him, the glasses dangling from the tip of his nose, the same shirt he’d been wearing for two days.

  “Okay, but I have my own health insurance.”

  “Congratulations.”

  There was a twist to his voice that put her on guard. It hurt her feelings a little. She was unsure how to respond and felt foolish, younger, unschooled, as if a few days working with birds had disarmed her. She couldn’t think of one bitchy comeback. It seemed she’d forgotten them when she’d grasped that eagle’s feet the first day. Her chin dipped. Maybe she’d imprinted with a species other than her own early on. And maybe it was the same for this weird, contradictory man.

  Rick handed her a pen. “Print your name, sign and date here,” he said, as if instructing a client.

  She briefly read the statement and then signed.

  He rotated the documents. Rick smelled like soap. “And this one’s for the rental agreement.”

  She signed.

  “And sign this W-4, put your social here and then print and sign your name here.”

  She was about to question why this was necessary since it was an exchange of rent for labor but didn’t bother. Reaching over, she filled out the form and signed.

  “Okay then.” He looked at his watch.

  “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Guess so.”

  She was about to ask if there was a back door she could use to retrieve Fotis but decided against it.

  Instead she walked out the same way, feeling stung. She eyed the log walls and stone fireplace. Sigmund was still planted on the sofa like a Basilias, Greek for king. She hopped down the front steps and was grateful to be out of there. The air smelled fresh with sweet grass, campfires and the delicate spice of water plants.

  “Asshole,” she muttered, as if that would cauterize her feelings. How could someone who exhibited such gentleness and compassion with mammals and birds be such a jerk? Walking around the side of the house, she spotted Fotis and Sam waiting at the fence.

  “Hi, guys,” she gushed, bending over in a goofy play stance, relieved to be suddenly enveloped by love and welcoming. She unlatched the gate and stepped in. Fotis rubbed her, turning against her chest as he basked in her scent.

  Sam made a beeline for the stand of mature birch trees in the farthest part of the backyard.

  “Hey, Sam.” The wolf’s ears perked up as he loped quickly away.

  He stopped a ways off to watch her, hiding behind one of the trees, peeking out, still not making up his mind. It hurt her feelings, too. Like father, like wolf.

  “Let’s go have fun,” she said to Fotis in Greek. Leaning over, she began playing, feeling excited about something for no apparent reason. He started wriggling.

  “Let’s go to the IGA and see if Maggie’s there,” Paula said in a playful voice. “We’ll get a rotisserie kota, maybe some ice cream, a new bone and some psomi.” At the sound of psomi, he stopped. “Yes, bread.” She nodded. Bread was his favorite; he’d go through a whole loaf in one meal. She’d taken to buying the long baguettes Maggie stocked. He’d lie in the car on his back, holding the two-foot-long bread between his front paws like a flute as he chewed away.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and began to run, racing Fotis to the Escape.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, just back from Maggie’s, Paula found Rick’s driveway filled with cars. Shiny, identical late-model BMWs, without a speck of road dust, not the type of trucks and cars she’d come to recognize as local. All had Minnesota license plates.

  She played with her lip as she scoped out the cars. Rick’s front door was shut, inside lights were on. Maybe he was having a dinner party. She felt miffed but was glad she hadn’t been invited.

  Just then her phone rang.

  “Heav,” she said. “Let me call you back.” The signal was weak. Yesterday, while talking to Eleni, Paula had discovered a place with good reception, out on the water in front of the guesthouse, on a boulder. She could get three bars. Maybe the signal was bouncing off a tower across in Canada or maybe Wisconsin.

  She situated Fotis with bread and a bone in the cabin and walked down to the shore, rolled up her jeans and stepped through the knee-high icy water. It made her breath catch as she slogged toward the boulder. Getting a foothold, she climbed up and checked the signal.

  “Hey—Tony’s got info on the guy,” Heavenly said.

  “Already?”

  “Christ—has all that fresh air killed your brain cells, Paula? He’s a detective for Christ sakes.”

  “I know, but still so fast?”

  “We’re concerned, that’s all. We love you. Doesn’t hurt to check—hey, Tone?” She was handed over.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Tony’s voice prompted a pang of homesickness.

  “Thanks. I needed that,” Paula said. It was so good to hear his gruff voice.

  “Richard Erik Gunnarsson,” he began. “Last name two n’s and s’s. Jeez, we don’t get a lot of names like this in New York.” She’d noticed the name on the papers she’d just signed. “Northern Lights Wildlife Rehabilitation,” he continued. Rick was a member of both the Minnesota and Wisconsin Bar Associations. His name was also found in association with legislation in both states as well as federal legislation to restrict breeding and selling native birds. It also covered export of raptors and native songbirds unless by controlled facilities licensed by the federal Wildlife Protection Act.

  Aside from a few speeding tickets over the past few years, a long and ugly divorce battle that was over eleven years ago, there was nothing else. His property was assessed at almost $2 million; his taxes were fifteen thousand a year. This was his only residence, and he had no reported income other than capital income.

  “Lots of photos with legislators, animal advocates,” Tony said. “He’s helped with updating the Endangered Species Act; Migratory Bird Treaty Act; Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act, Jesus, I could go on. Guy’s an animal nut.”

  “He’s hardly a nut, Tone,” Paula said in the middle of a yawn. Tony then read off Rick’s registration number with the state of Minnesota as a wildlife rehabilitator.

  Paula missed Tony and Heavenly, missed being known. It was a strange experience that people looked suspiciously at her. In New York life moved so fast that few were suspicious for their mere presence. But here she was the mysterious newcomer. Materializing out of thin air with few possessions other than a wolf dog who understood Greek, she’d landed a job and cozied up to the local grocer for information about her new employer.

  “You talk to Roger lately?” Tony asked.

  “Yesterday,” Paula said. “He’s busy with the collider. I think we’re on a talking hiatus.”

  “We miss you, dolly,” Tony said. “Here’s Heav.”

  “So tell me what Mr. Rick Gunnarsson looks like?” Heavenly said.

  “Forget about it, Heav; the only thing hot for me is a turkey vulture.”

  “A what?”

  “Forget it. Had to be there.”

  “So what are you doing now?”

  “Right now? Sitting on a boulder in the lake talking.”

  “You’re what?!”
r />   “It’s the only place I get a signal.”

  “She’s sitting in the middle of the fucking lake,” Heavenly called to Tony.

  “I’m hardly in the middle, Heav,” she said.

  “That’s all right; it makes for a good story,” Heavenly said. “So what’s this town like?”

  “It’s cute. Scenery’s gorgeous.”

  “You’re right near the border.”

  “I know.”

  “What happened to going to see Bernie, your advisor?” Heavenly was relaying everything back to Tony.

  “I’m going to make it up there one of these days.”

  “How’s that precious dog?”

  “Oh, he’s doing great,” Paula said. “Having the time of his life. He’s got a buddy now.”

  “You got another one?”

  “No. This guy Rick’s gotta”—she wondered what to call Sam: a house wolf?— “one that’s Fotis’ size.”

  “Cool.”

  “Hey, I better go. I left Fotis alone at the cabin I’m renting.”

  “We love you; stay safe,” they called into the phone.

  After ending the call she sat on the boulder, looking out to the horizon. Except for Fotis, there was no urgency to get back. The sun was beginning to shift into rich late afternoon, bathing everything in its color. Everyone kept noting how the days were growing shorter. She pulled up her knees and tucked into a ball. It felt like she was inhaling the beauty of the sky, the aquamarine horizon, all of it so serene, so quiet. She sat there a few moments longer until she missed Fotis and headed back to take him for a walk.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, cars from Rick’s houseguests were still parked out front, covered with a fine layer of pollen and dust. As she walked Fotis down the grassy path she’d noticed the lights were on in Rick’s home.

  It was after seven and Rick wasn’t out yet. She put Fotis in the back gate and walked toward the main building to begin preparing food for the eagle and the owl. There were no entries on the clipboard; this would be the first feeding of the day. She carefully weighed the food and noted the amount as Rick had instructed so that they knew exactly how much each was eating per feeding. As the blender was going, puréeing fresh fish into a consistency that would go through the feeding tube, Rick walked in with his contingent of guests.

  She turned off the blender out of courtesy and looked up.

  “Paula,” he acknowledged. His voice sounded different. Quickly he rattled off their names, none of which she caught. They watched her closely, as if waiting for a reaction. Each nodded as they were introduced and she nodded back. Paula felt uncomfortable.

  “They’re in town for the day; I’m showing them around.”

  “Rick tells us you’re from New York City,” one of them said in a way that hit her wrong.

  “Guilty as charged,” slipped right out of her mouth.

  They seemed taken aback.

  “I have a cousin in Brookyn,” one of them said.

  “Well,” Paula said as they began milling about. “Have a nice visit; looks like you’ll have beautiful weather.” She’d picked up the standard weather talk from Maggie: “When you got nothing to say, there’s always the weather.”

  She turned the blender back on, hoping they wouldn’t interpret it as a hostile act.

  “Mind if they stay to watch you feed the owl?” Rick asked, after the food was ready.

  “Doesn’t bother me.” She walked over to the box, unclipped the clothespins, bent over and lifted the owl.

  There was a bit of a collective gasp.

  “I’ll hold, you feed, this time,” Rick said.

  “Sure.” She transferred the owl to him. She immediately looked to Paula.

  “You hungry, sweetie?” Paula asked. Loading up the feeder, she filled the plunger with food and pressed out all the air.

  Rick held the owl against his chest, each leg secured in his hands.

  Paula parted the owl’s beak and slowly, carefully slid the tube into the esophagus and down into her stomach.

  She looked up to check with Rick.

  He nodded.

  She pushed slowly on the plunger.

  “Wow,” a woman with pearl stud earrings said. “You’ve learned this in just a couple of days?”

  After she removed the tube, Paula glanced toward the woman. Something about her was bothersome. “Don’t quite have my Ph.D. yet in raptor feeding,” Paula said, unable to mask the slap of sarcasm usually reserved for unreasonable colleagues. The sharpness surprised all of them.

  The owl blinked as she looked at Paula. She smiled and smoothed where the owl’s feathers had gotten ruffled due to Paula’s inexperience.

  She stroked the owl and lowered her head to feel the feathers on her nose. It was like getting kissed by nature.

  Paula looked more closely at the woman. Maybe she was Rick’s girlfriend. Didn’t seem like it, though. Aside from being too uptight, they didn’t exude the lush vibe of lovers that’s difficult to hide.

  “I’ll show you the otters we’re going to release on Friday,” Rick said, turning to place the owl back in the box. “I’ll be back in a little bit to feed the eagle.”

  The group huddled together before turning to leave the building, exchanging information in low voices.

  After the door closed, Paula slumped. She felt like she could cry. She’d sounded like a bitter, aging bird-woman. How long had it been that she’d been exiled from love? It felt like a century. And what the hell was she doing here? She should’ve kept driving to Bernie’s. Maybe she should go to Thunder Bay on the weekend, get some perspective. Yet she was unsure about the eagle. He wasn’t doing well; he’d seemed more listless last night. Rick did say that the anti-toxin was hard on them, but she was scared. She yearned for the eagle’s defiance, his yellow-gray stare, and for him to live that she might see him released and not fighting for his life in a cardboard washing machine box from Sears. She peeked into the box. He didn’t look back; he was lying on his side, yellow beak parted, and he was panting. “Hold on, oraios,” she whispered. Tears burned her eyes to see him fighting to breathe. She covered the box again and went out to the flight room.

  After she cleaned the flight room, Rick motioned for her to follow him and help feed and medicate the eagle. She hurried to catch up with him.

  Sigmund caught sight of her and tottered after, flapping his wings and grunting. He was courting her, as Rick had pointed out.

  “What do you want from me?” She turned to the bird, opening her hands. Sigmund seemed to take this as encouragement and hurried to her side.

  “Hey, Rick.” She finally caught him. “So tell me about your friends?” she asked.

  He stopped. “What about them?”

  He’d been so polite when they’d been there. “I don’t know,” she said. “It all seems very formal, like you’re having meetings.”

  He seemed to wonder if he should answer her. “They’re people I work with.”

  “Are they attorneys, too?” It was a strange position, knowing so much about him but not letting on.

  “They were impressed with your level of skill.”

  She got the sense it wasn’t meant as a compliment.

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “They were wondering where you’ve worked with raptors.”

  “Maybe I’m just a natural,” she said. She put on the leather gloves and walked toward the cardboard box. Unclipping the bedsheet, she rolled it back and looked in.

  “Hi,” she said. “You gonna let me pick you up today, micros mou, esai oraios.”

  The eagle opened his eyes but made no effort to raise himself up.

  “Hey, Rick?”

  He quickly stepped over.

  “He seems worse. I checked him after you left.”

  “Pick him up and let’s look,” Rick said.

  She bent over, supported the eagle’s body with one hand and grasped his feet with the other. He looked over at Rick.

&n
bsp; “Hey, guy,” Rick said.

  Paula carried and then laid the eagle down on the treatment table.

  “Doesn’t he seem worse?” she said.

  Rick said nothing but quickly checked the bird over. Whether Rick wasn’t one for false optimism or the eagle was worse, he gave no indication.

  “I’ll draw blood,” he said. “You go on and run it over to Darryl’s. I’ll call him, have him check for white blood cell count. Sometimes these birds have subcutaneous infections that go undetected.”

  She looked at Rick. “Are we going to tube-feed him?”

  Rick seemed to be thinking about it.

  “Let’s see if he can eat solids.”

  Paula laid the eagle down on the treatment table, gently securing him with her forearms. The bird was as long as her torso.

  “It’s okay,” she purred to him. The eagle stopped pushing back with his wings at the sound of her voice.

  “We’re gonna check you again,” she explained. “See if you’re getting better.”

  She could’ve sworn she caught a hint of a smile on Rick’s lips as he drew blood. Afterward, Rick wrapped the eagle in a blanket to secure his talons and held the eagle against his chest. Using a pair of long tweezers, Paula picked up the fresh fish she’d cut into chunks for the eagle to grab.

  “Hold it closer so he can reach.”

  “Can’t he smell it?”

  “No. They have a poor sense of smell, not like turkey vultures.”

  She moved the fish closer, and tapped his beak. He still didn’t take it. She looked at Rick.

  “Press it harder against his beak,” Rick said. “He’s still a bit confused. Probably never been hand-fed by a bunch of people before.”

  She tried again. To her surprise the eagle grabbed the fish and almost the tweezers, too. She pulled them out of his mouth and grabbed another chunk of fish, offering it up.

  “Wait for him to swallow; then offer more.”

  He grabbed it in one chunk. To her surprise, he ate most of the fish.

  “Either he’s full or he’s getting tired,” Rick said. As soon as he said it, the eagle seemed to wilt. “I think enough for now,” Rick said, and carried him back to the box. “This was good.

  “I’m going to check him again in a few hours. Will you be around?”