by Sharon Irwin
Despite their all being gathered in one spot, it took an unreasonable amount of time to herd her mother’s friends out of the house. Each seemed convinced that if only she could speak to Gavin personally he would surely consent to Heal just that one little thing that was bothering her, and when Gem firmly assured them that no one else would be seeing Gavin that day, they seemed equally determined to outdo each other with expressions of sadness and demands for word of when Gavin would be ready to Heal again. Gem commiserated and promised in the right order and in what she hoped was a sincere tone of voice all the while guiding them inexorably to and through the door.
At last there only remained Eggie and Mabel helping Emily to manoeuvre Frank’s wheel chair through the narrow door frame and onto the ramp. All the while Mabel chatted about how disappointed she was with how things had turned out and how Gavin’s Magic could have been managed better.
“Really Regina, we shouldn’t have let him Heal Frank first. He’s all used up.”
“Mabel! My Grandson is not a medicine bottle! He is hardly used up!” Eggie snapped at her.
“Well I’m still a wrinkly disaster, aren’t I?” cried Mabel. “And I have sore knees and I want to get back in my heels, just like you. When am I going to get them seen to now?”
Gem didn’t wait to hear Eggie’s answer. She shut and locked the door on them and rushed back to Bill and Gavin. Bill was stalking the boundaries of the garden still holding a frenzied Gavin in his arms.
“Are they gone?” he asked as soon as he saw her.
“Yes. All of them.”
“Eggie didn’t bring over any of the plants she promised. What are we going to let him have?”
He looked around him and she knew he was picking and then rejecting various trees for different reasons, too near the house, too beautiful and it had taken so long to grow, too visible from the road. Soon he would have to pick one regardless.
“Maybe we’ll let Gavin decide. He didn’t do such a bad job last time.”
Gavin stopped his wriggling and kicking. He looked down at Gem.
“That was a mistake,” he said. She remembered he’d said that to Bill back then. She was worried for him, that he might have sensed Bill’s displeasure and think he shouldn’t let the burning pour into a plant. She reached up a hand to his sweaty forehead and pushed some of his damp hair back from his eyes.
“But Gavin, you have to let the burning go, you can’t hold on to it after you Heal people. We don’t know what it will do to you.”
“I didn’t Heal them,” Gavin said.
She wondered could it be possible he was too young to know what he was doing. Maybe, as young as he was, he couldn’t understand how much the older people feared what their wrinkles and pains implied.
“What you do with the old people, Gavin. Healing them.”
“No,” Gavin smiled. “I wasn’t Healing. I was Gathering.”
Bill stiffened. Gavin was quiet, looking around him, and Gem kept running questions through her mind, too frightened to use them in case she didn’t get an answer she could cope with.
“What do you mean, Gathering, Gavin?” Bill asked. “Gathering what? For what?”
“I’ll show you,” he said. “Let me down.”
Bill didn’t want to, but he did, slowly. She could tell by him that he wanted to hold on to Gavin, to control him somehow.
“Where’s Buddy?” Gavin asked.
“No. Buddy doesn’t need to see.” Bill stepped in front of him, but it was too late. Like his name was a summoning, Buddy came around the side of the house, still holding the bird, still delighted with his tiny gift.
Gem sighed and Bill said, “I’ll ask him to go,” but Buddy and Gavin had seen each other.
“Gavin!” Buddy cried. “Look what I have!”
Buddy sounded so much like a small child, crowing about his tame jackdaw, that it seemed natural she and Bill should be shut out of the conversation. Gavin slipped easily around Bill and ran to Buddy.
“Look,” Buddy knelt down and held out his two arms, the bird in them raised like an offering and Gavin held out his too. She had a moment of heightened awareness before they touched. She knew she would remember everything about this moment. The smell of wet grass and damp earth, the chill spring breeze on her arms, even the human warmth that emanated from Bill as he too stood as if rooted to the ground. There was a flurry of bird song in the trees. The sun came out and lit up the cold garden. It lit up Buddy’s face, all animated with his joy about the bird, and then Gavin released all the burning into him.
Buddy did not burn up like the climbers had. Instead he slumped quietly onto his knees before his body fell onto the ground, his expression lifeless, his limp hands releasing the jackdaw, which flew unscathed and unconcerned to the bare branch of a nearby tree. She couldn’t help but watch the path of the bird, the calm way it picked its spot on a branch, its self satisfaction as it surveyed the garden, the solid grip of its curved claws, the mild interest it showed in the human drama played out beneath it. Its part was over, the main story was told. Buddy was gone.
