Up Flew The Jackdaw

by Sharon Irwin

The trampoline was empty. From inside the house she could hear the sound of voices raised together; some wonder had been performed and all the Bridge Club ladies exclaimed at it. Perhaps Gavin had erased five years from a weathered face, or maybe a rounded back had been straightened, or arthritic fingers had been soothed. The sound had held awe, but also envy, want, impatience.

  She sighed and rushed up the steps. It was hard to balance them all. Gavin and her mother would have no restraint on what he performed and Bill would dole out Gavin’s gift like a miser.

  She had just opened the door when she saw Bill and Gavin coming towards her. Bill had Gavin in his arms and he was twisting like a snake, his eyes all burning up just like the last time, his skin glowing like a lantern.

  “It was the guy in the wheelchair,” Bill told her as he passed by. “Hardly took a minute for this to happen. Get rid of them.” Bill’s voice was calm, for Gavin’s sake, but his shoulders were tense and his face tight.

  Inside, the Bridge ladies were breaking out of what had been a rough circle formed around an impossibly old man who now sat alert, but silent in a mechanical chair. Eggie fluttered around in a desperate attempt to keep the ladies from following Bill and Gavin, and an old woman at the centre of the circle exclaimed in a voice filled with wonder.

  “He’s brought him back. He’s brought him back. I can see Frank in his face again. I thought I’d lost him forever, but he’s brought him back.”