by Minick, Jim;
Will nodded.
“I can’t pay you.”
“That’s all right, I don’t expect money.” Will wondered how hard it could be.
“Well, it’s about that time. Come on.” The man turned. Over his shoulder, he said, “I’m Peter Franklin, by the way,” and Will held out his hand again, but Mr. Franklin was already five steps ahead.
Half an hour later, Ada and Lucky returned from their hike. A strange car sat in the lane, and the dog ran ahead to circle and growl. Ada told it to hush as she bent to examine a black bird inside. Its wing was wrapped, and it hunkered and stayed quiet. Only its eyes moved as it watched her. Could it be? Ada hastened to the makeshift milking parlor.
“You started early, Papa. And whose car is that?”
Her father leaned back on his stool and nodded to the young man, head against a cow, Esso cap turned backward. “Says his name is Will and he’s come to help,” her father whispered. “Also says he can milk, but Ady, I swear he’s been on poor Lucy this whole time and I’ve already finished my third cow.” He shook his head and returned to filling his pail.
Ada worked her way through the cows to the back, where she startled Will with her hello.
He shifted on his stool with a wide grin. “Thought I’d come help. Maybe pay back some of that ice cream.” He couldn’t read her expression.
Ada peeked into his bucket and saw an inch of milk. She said only, “Thanks for coming to help,” before she sat on her stool at the next cow.
What’s he doing here? she wondered as she washed the cow’s udder. And here I am in my farm clothes. She squeezed the teats, and the loud gush of milk echoed inside the bucket. She forced herself to hold in a giggle.
On a whim, Ada squirted a jet of milk at Will. It hit him in the ear.
“Hey!” he hollered, startling the cows. He held up his palm to stop the next stream. It splashed over his face. “How’d you do that?” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
She ignored him and smiled as her bucket began to fill.
After she finished her second cow and emptied her bucket, Ada stepped beside Will, who still worked on Lucy. “Squeeze from the top down.” She bent close, grabbed the cow’s teat, and demonstrated. He said nothing, but his breath warmed her neck. “Try it.”
She rested on her knees and admired his cowlick that stuck straight up, the muscled arms as they worked. He got a dribble. “Almost.” She grabbed both his hand and the cow’s teat and squeezed. “See?” Will nodded. Ada put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she stood. She moved farther away, disappearing among the cows. But her hand trembled as she milked the next one.
Two hours later, Ada and her father finished their last cows. Then they moved to help Will with his second cow.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” Will said.
Peter only said, “Indeed.”
When they finished, her father invited Will in for supper, but he declined, saying he needed to feed his raven.
“Raven?” her father asked.
“Yep, just found him the other day. Named him Cicero. He’s in the car if you want to have a look.”
Cicero woke when he heard them approach, and he shifted to the far edge.
“Found him up on the mountain after that storm. Lightning destroyed his nest and killed the rest of the family. He’s warming up to me and Aunt Amanda, but he don’t take to strangers too quick.”
Ada and her father bent to look in. Those black pearls for eyes gave her goose bumps.
“Somebody got you all wrapped up,” her father said, and Will told them about the broken wing and foot.
“I brought him to a healer over this way, a Mark Hoover. Sounds like you-all might be related. He said this foot should be fine in another day or two and that he’ll be flying soon.”
Ada stayed quiet as her father said, “That’s my brother-in-law.”
“I don’t know what he did, some kind of voodoo magic or something, but it seems to be working.”
Her father didn’t say more, just rested his hand on the door. “Think I could touch him?”
“Not sure what he’d do, Mr. Franklin. Give me a few more days to tame him.”
“You’re a pretty fellow.” Her father stared at Cicero for a moment before standing. The raven gave a series of low murmurs. “I’ve heard if you cut a crow’s tongue, he’ll be able to talk. Ever hear that?”
Will nodded. “If someone did that to me, I’d hate to think what the first words out of my mouth would be. Know what I mean? Besides, I think Cicero’s going to talk soon enough without a forked tongue.”
“I’d like to see that.” Her father noticed the burnt barn before them and turned sullen. “Thanks for your help, and come back tomorrow if you want.” He walked into the house.
Ada followed, but stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. “That’s some bird. Hope he can fly soon.”
“Oh, he will. He’s got spirit, that boy.”
“How do you know it’s a boy?”
“Oh, I don’t know, just do, I guess. Could be wrong. Guess that’d make her Cicerina, eh?”
Ada laughed.
“Hey, if you and your father could collect mice, that’d be a help.”
Ada shook her head. “Mice?”
“Yeah, that’s what he loves to eat. He crushes every bone before swallowing them in one gulp. Quite a show. Give me a mouse and you’ll get to see.”
“Maybe.”
Will adjusted his hat and looked up to the mountain. “Can I ask you something else?”
Ada shrugged and said sure.
“Your voice, it sounds like . . .”
“My voice is ugly because some cysts grew there when I was a kid and . . .”
He waited. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve brought it up. But ever since yesterday, I’ve been trying to figure out what it sounds like, and it finally hit me. It sounds like a phoebe, your voice, I mean. Next to a raven, that’s my favorite bird.”
Ada stared at him. “You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
She crossed her arms and leaned against the fence.
“Hope you don’t mind me showing up and telling you that.”
“Not at all,” Ada said, but she didn’t know what to think. “Thanks.” She looked toward his car. “See you, Cicerina. And see you tomorrow, Will Burk.” She turned to follow her father.
When he drove away, Will whooped and pounded the Plymouth’s ceiling. Cicero cawed and joined all the noise. Then in the dashboard light, Will worked his hand, trying to remember how to squeeze just right, wondering when he would feel her touch again.
Cicero
He said her name was Ada, and I knew right away I didn’t like her. Knew she wouldn’t be anything like Aunt Amanda, who fed me like she had done it all her life. Talk about a sweet woman.
But this Ada. By god of rooster brains and riddled tin cups, if I could spit I would.
We were driving to her farm, Will told me, and he kept saying her name, “Ada, Ada,” almost singing it. Enough already, I wanted to say, before I puke all that burger meat you fed me.
He looked at all the buildings in that little town like he’d never been there before. I could tell he had no idea what he was about to do. That fool. He stopped the car and left me alone to wonder and wait.
I woke to that owlshit of a dog barking around the car. The windows were open, so I hoped he wouldn’t get any ideas. I was ready to peck out the bastard’s eye. Then I saw a woman with a round face looking in, hair all in a tangle, hazel eyes shiny like pebbles in the bottom of a creek. She had this odd way of turning her head like a grouse searching for bugs. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. I already knew.
Later, when we finally drove away, Will couldn’t stop pounding the steering wheel and punching the gas, he was that happy. I tried to speak, cawed as loud as I could over all his racket. I wanted to warn him, tell him she’d only bring trouble.
I wanted Will, not Will in love wi
th what’s-her-name. Oh, I was such a fool.
19
The morning light silhouetted Cicero, the bright sheen of feathers purpling his back. The bird stretched his good wing and shook his neck, using the stub foot for balance. Then he tried to pick at the binding tape, but soon gave up.
“Good morning, Cicero,” Will called, and the raven screeched and ruffled his feathers. Will nestled him into the crook of his arm to stroke and calm the bird. He had never held anything so beautiful and so black, this shade of nothing and everything, the feathers a wash of colors—blue, green, and even white. In the light, the feathers shimmered and glowed. As he petted, the sleepy bird dropped its beak into his elbow, slow breaths rocking its head. He felt the bones, the very skeleton that wired it together, the skin thin as a black veil.
In the kitchen, Cicero begged. He hopped onto the counter and waved his head back and forth, cawing constantly. “OK, OK. It’s coming. Hold your horses.” Saying that made Will laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Cicero—riding a horse? We might have to try it sometime.” The raven jumped from side to side, a one-legged dance. “That’s a new move, big boy. Where’d you learn that?” Will fed the bird and ate his cereal.
After making sandwiches, Will opened his lunchbox to find another pamphlet from Dickson. “Judgment Day Is NEAR!” black-lettered across the top. “Where Will You Spend ETERNITY?” rested above a picture of the Devil, the “Will” starkly underlined. Inside, in a cramped hand, Dickson had written, “Your mother’s in heaven. Will you see her there?”
“Goddamnit, Dickson. Cut me a break.” Will lit the paper and admired the flame and black smoke before dropping it into the sink. Cicero shrieked and hopped to the far side of the counter.
“It’s OK.” Will held out some cereal, lured Cicero onto his arm, and sat with him, stroking his back.
At work, Will parked on the shady side of the garage, right behind Dickson’s Chevy. Dickson shouted from the pumps, “Only managers can park there.” Will waved and acted like he couldn’t hear. He ran inside to drop his lunch in his locker. When he came back out, Dickson and Scoop stood beside his car.
“What do you plan to do with that thing?” Dickson looked in the window. Cicero hunkered and eyed the men.
“Get him flying again,” Will said. “Maybe tame him. I don’t know.”
Dickson pointed to scat on the floor. “No wonder no one rides with you. Not even your aunt.”
Will wondered if his own skin would be so leathery if he kept working here.
“You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” He looked at Will.
Will thought of Ada but shook his head.
“Well, you might never get none if you keep that smelly thing.” Dickson popped his hands.
Will ignored him and pulled Cicero out of the car. “Can I park my car here to keep Cicero in the shade?” He stroked the raven’s back.
Dickson checked the pumps, popped his hands. “I guess so. Just leave room for the managers.”
A few hours later, Will gave Cicero a break from the car. “Let’s get you some fresh air, big boy.” He walked around the pumps with Cicero standing on his forearm, the bird turning his head this way and that, all squeaks and rattles.
Dickson stood back, wary of beak. Scoop wasn’t so shy. Will gave him a piece of bacon. The raven snapped it greedily. Slowly, Scoop rubbed its chest. “This bird ain’t the hurting type, is it, now, Whip? Why don’t you give it a little pat on its feathered back,” he said to Dickson.
When Will turned his head, Dickson stepped close and raised his hand to touch Cicero. The quick motion surprised them both. The raven spread its one wing, gave a high-pitched squawk, and jumped to Will’s shoulder.
“Whoa, there,” Will said. He stroked the bird’s breast and eyed his manager. “Buddy won’t hurt you now.”
The short man shook his head and grinned at the absurdity of a raven perched on Will’s shoulder. “That’s real impressive. So, when you going to teach him to talk?”
Will said, “Soon enough,” and he turned away to calm Cicero. As he headed to the garage, he realized he liked Cicero’s new perch, liked the feel of the bird’s lightness, the shadow of his head bobbing out of the corner of his eye. And now he had both hands free to work.
For a while, Will walked stiff-necked and slightly bent, unsure of Cicero’s balance. He didn’t want to knock him off. So he moved slowly and talked. “OK, now, I’m going to tie my shoe.” The bird tilted its head and listened. As Will leaned forward, Cicero spread his wing and moved to stand on Will’s shoulder blade.
“Back up we go, OK?”
Cicero hopped to stand by his ear.
All afternoon, Will said OK and bent to one side, then the other, Cicero rattling and adjusting his perch. Soon, the two moved easily, bird riding man, and man riding the joy of this round world full of feathers.
20
Same Day
At work, Ada found Aunt Amanda in the restroom, cleaning sinks.
“I was needing a break. Come sit with me,” the older woman said, and the two rested on stools by the window.
“I finally met your nephew the other day,” Ada said. “And yesterday, he showed up at the farm and helped with the milking.”
“Oh, really.” Aunt Amanda smiled. “I wondered why he said we couldn’t carpool. I hope he didn’t hurt your cows. That boy never was much interested in farm animals, just dogs and birds.”
“He finished milking one, and we helped him finish the second.”
“Your father’s not paying him, is he?”
“I think he offered to do it for free. He had his pet raven, too.”
“So, you got to meet Cicero. Lovely fellow, isn’t he?”
“If you say so. It’s kind of scary looking to me.”
“Oh, he won’t hurt you, especially if you’re a friend of Will’s.”
Ada took a breath and looked out the window. “Aunt Amanda, what are you afraid of?”
“Oh, my, that’s easy. Tunnels.”
“Tunnels?”
“Yes, they scare the dickens out of me every time. They make me feel like the earth is squeezing the air out from my lungs. You ever feel that way?”
“Yes, but not in a tunnel.”
“When I drive, I take the mountain road, but if Will’s along, we have to go through those tunnels. And every time, he has to hold his breath the whole way through.” She paused. “What makes you ask?”
Where did she begin? “You still go through them, the tunnels, right?”
“Oh, yes, I make it through.”
“How did you overcome that fear?”
“Can’t say that I have. But if I think about the Lord and how he’s probably laughing at my silliness, then I make it through.”
They both stayed quiet for a long while.
“I saw James’s bandages and heard about what happened. Why couldn’t you heal his cuts?”
The directness startled Ada. In her lap, her fingers fumbled with the apron’s hem. “Seems like I can’t powwow anymore. Seems like the Lord has forsaken me for some reason.”
“Oh, Ada. I’m so sorry.”
Ada found herself crying in Aunt Amanda’s warm hug.
“When I was a child, I was deathly afraid of snakes,” Aunt Amanda said. “I saw a little garter snake and went screaming to my father. Well, he thought this nonsense. He caught that snake, and we kept it in a terrarium for over a week. Every morning, he made me say hello to it, and every evening, goodnight. By the third day, he had me touching it. By the fifth, I wanted to hold the thing. He warned me about copperheads and rattlesnakes, said that all snakes will strike, some worse than others. But in his mind, being afraid of God’s creatures was a sin, even if it is the snake struck down in Genesis. All God’s creatures are worthy.
“Whatever frightens you, Ada, God is greater.”
Ada nodded and said thank you. “I know you’re right. It’s just hard to believe sometimes.”
“I felt that way when
I lost my John. But keep believing, Ada. Sometimes it’s all we have.” Aunt Amanda spotted Will walking from the garage. “Well, look at that. Cicero’s learned a new trick.”
Ada bent to see the raven standing on Will’s shoulder. “Won’t that bird hurt him, peck an eye or something?”
“Not Cicero, not as much as he adores Will. That bird thinks Will is god, and they’ve only been together, what, a couple of days? Hard to believe.”
Will strode to the side of a car that had just pulled in. Ada couldn’t see the driver, but she imagined his shock. Will nodded, and Cicero nodded, too. It made a harsh call, which Will rewarded with a snack from his pocket.
“That’s some kind of show,” Ada said. “Seems like it might be a little loud in his ear.”
“He’s still learning, but boy is he smart. And gentle. Yesterday he nibbled from my palm just as gentle as a cat’s tongue.”
“You feed it? You’re not afraid of it poking your eye?”
“Oh, he loves boiled eggs. And I don’t think he’d harm anyone’s eyes, plus I have my glasses. Actually”—she tapped her frames—“he’s more interested in these than anything else. He even tried to pick them up off the counter. Can you believe it?”
“You let that bird in your house?” Ada could no longer hold in her surprise.
“Oh, yes. He’s a bit messy but not too bad. I raised a crow once, and he was quite clean. In fact, I wish Will would learn to pick up after himself the way Horace used to.”
Another car pulled up, and Will washed its windows, the bird riding his shoulder. Even from this distance, Ada saw Will’s huge grin.
Will noticed Aunt Amanda and Ada and waved. He pointed to Cicero, and the bird leaned over, gave a loud cronk, and Will offered it another treat.
“That must’ve been Cicero’s ‘hello,’” Aunt Amanda said and returned his wave.
Will shifted to the other side of the car, and as he walked, he looked a second time, a little longer. He waved again before turning to help the other men.
Ada resisted waving back.
Cicero
That cat food, it tastes pretty good, especially when you haven’t eaten in a long time. Dog food ain’t half bad either, the beef flavor in particular. But burger meat, now that’s fine eating, juicy and raw with those little grains of fat that make it slide right down. Mmm-mm. Makes my beak click just talking about it.
