Ben Bedard - The World Without Crows

“I’m getting my own prem-O-nition about this guy,” Sergio said. “You ever hear those stories about kids being lured into an old shack?”

“He’s okay,” Eric said. For some reason, he was thinking about Charlie. It seemed years ago. Like a flash of pure, perfect memory, he saw Charlie again, gurgling out his last breath. He shook it off with difficulty.

Lucia agreed with him, so, after a fearful sigh from Sergio, they walked inside.

And immediately saw Remember’s secret.

“This one here is all about these kids, right?” Remember held up a VHS tape to Birdie. “They’re going to lose their homes unless they find a pirate’s treasure.”

“Pirate treasure?” Birdie looked at the cover of the movie with awe. Remember cackled and let Birdie hold the movie.

They stood inside the shack, crowded, shoulder to shoulder. Inside the shack was a leather sofa with several blankets piled on top of it. The sofa faced a very large television. Eric had never seen such a large television before in his life. On one side of the wall was a small hot plate, surrounded by dishes, and underneath a small shelf, what looked like a few cans of food and some sacks of flour or rice.

The remainder of the shack was taken up by Remember’s secret. From the ceiling to the floor, all around three walls of the house, opening up only for a couple narrow windows, were stacked hundreds and hundreds of VHS tapes. Horror, action, comedies, documentaries, all stacked one on the other. On the floor in front of the television, amidst a web of wire, was a VHS player, still as a patient spider.

“Look here,” Remember said, flourishing his arms. “I got damn near every movie there ever was!” He laughed, proud of his collection. “I been to every video store I could find in Vermont, searching for new movies. I reckon this is about all there is.” When he looked at them, his eyes twinkled with passion. “All night, all I do is watch movies. That’s all!” He crossed his arms and stood up straight and proud. “Hell, turned out the end of the world weren’t too bad for me. I got everything I need. Fine comfortable place to sleep, big ole TV, and more movies than I can remember!” He laughed at his own pun. “I tell you what,” Remember said. “If you folk help me dig a new pit for my generator, you’re welcome to watch any movie you want! Any which one as pleases you!”

“This one!” Birdie exclaimed, holding up the movie Remember had given her. “Can we, Eric? Please?”

They looked at each other and then Eric turned to Remember. “All right,” he said, holding out his hand. “You have a deal.”

Remember was not like Charlie. Eric wondered if the old man had gone a little crazy. Sometimes, when they paused in the digging of the pit, Remember would turn to the two goats and say something, just as if they were having a conversation. “I ain’t going to make that mistake this time,” he told them once. “Don’t you worry none. I’m digging this pit with a drain.” The goats looked at him with empty curiosity.

Eric and Sergio worked with rusty spades while Lucia hauled away buckets of dirt. Birdie and Remember stood to one side and watched, Remember giving directions. The pit they dug had a small, cone-shaped bottom. Remember lined it with a hard plastic made from sleds. The bottom of the cone was drained with PVC pipe that Remember had already installed. The pipe ran downhill and emptied in a large, blue plastic container. Over the cone, they put a steel grate and then a steel mesh over that. On this, Remember poured gravel. Finally, over the gravel was placed a wooden palette. The four of them slowly lowered the generator down into the pit, using ropes and a triangular wooden frame over the pit. They set it steadily in it’s new home. When they were done and the wire was strung up out of the ground to the house, Remember cackled happily, and cranked the generator to a puttering, chuffing start. As a last step, he stuck a pipe from the engine up through the pit, to allow for exhaust and fresh air, and then, over everything he laid down a sheet of heavy plywood. Even though the generator chugged right beneath them, they could hardly hear the sound. Eric thought the old man had a mind for practicality. He would need to think like him when they arrived at the island.

Remember smiled and clapped their backs and told them how much work they had saved him. “That’ll keep them sons a bitches away,” he said to the goats, who did not answer. Eric didn’t know who he meant, but he didn’t need to. The Minutemen? Some other gang? Did it matter? For another, painful moment, he could see Charlie again, sitting by his fire with a book on his lap. He smelled Charlie, a woody, spicy smell, and his heart lurched.

They stood over the covered pit, sweating and breathing hard. Remember looked at them. “I got to thank you folks,” he said. “I would’ve broke my back doing this myself. Nearly killed myself moving that TV up here. I couldn’t hardly move. Near starved to death. Back ain’t been right since either.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lucia. “Glad to help. I have to say, we’re looking forward to some chowder and a movie.”

Remember smiled. “Well, it’s the least I can do,” he said. “I’m just plain lucky you guys come along. Plain lucky.”

The tang of goat’s milk in the chowder seemed sweet to them. Remember had also made a batch of soft biscuits, which came steaming from an oven that Eric had missed before. Now they dunked the fresh biscuits in the chowder. As they ate, Eric blinked off memories of Sarah and the soup she had made for them. In his mind, her bones still smoked on the mountain. He shuffled in his seat uncomfortably.

They had fresh blueberry jam over hot biscuits for dessert. While they ate, Remember showed Birdie how to put the movie in the VHS player. The machine clicked and whirred when Birdie pushed the play button. When the television screen flickered, rolled, and then came to life, Birdie let out a cry of pleasure. Eric thought of Brad, how he had loved movies, how he would loved this, but he too was gone, his body burnt to ashes on the shore of Mosquito Creek Lake. Eric swallowed. The golden light from the television flickered over them.

Eric had seen the movie before. Glenn had gone to the movies with him to see it. It was the first time they met after school and Eric had been nervous. At the time, he had no friends. Everyone avoided Daffy Fuck as if obesity was a plague. Glenn was a tall, rigid boy with a great, wide mouth. His brown hair was festooned with cow licks. Whenever he spoke, his teeth seemed to strain against the several pounds of braces that bound them. He spoke rarely and when he did, he usually followed what he said with a barking laugh. They called him Chewbacca because of how often he impersonated the character, bending his neck back and letting out a cry with uncanny precision. Glenn thought the name was a compliment. It wasn’t. He was avoided also, but he hardly noticed. The outside world didn’t seem to quite penetrate Glenn’s world. He was always smiling, always ready with a joke. Eric never saw him ashamed or humiliated. He was so nervous before the meeting at the movies, he couldn’t eat the whole day before. His stomach was knotted painfully, and the night before, he had prayed that he would not do or say anything to make Glenn dislike him. His mother had seen this and held him close. “You worry too much,” she said. “Anyone that gets to know you will see what a great person you are, Eric.” She kissed him. “You’ll see.”

Now, as Birdie and Lucia and Sergio laughed, Eric remembered Glenn’s booming laughter in the theater, how it had scared him at first, but then, little by little, he had joined in, and it was as simple as that. Glenn was his first friend. Now, Glenn was. Now Glenn was. What was Glenn? What had happened to him? It was worse somehow, not knowing, worse than the memory of Jessica, shot in the street.