Mary Alice Monroe - Skyward

“We’ll keep him busy enough.”

“Uh-huh. That’s good.” Another nod. She must have sensed which way the wind was blowing for her son, because she looked Harris full in the face, her pale eyes appealing. “He’s real sorry for what he’s done. Brady’s a good boy. Works hard around the place. Helps me with the kids, that’s for sure. He’s smart, too. The teachers tell me so all the time, and he’s never caused us no trouble before. Fact is, I blame his father for the mess Brady’s in, him bringing the boy into the government woods in the first place. We’re hoping that he’ll do his time here and that’ll put this whole mess behind us.”

The line sounded too rehearsed to suit Harris. The boy shuffled his feet and looked off at some point in the far distance, no doubt wishing he were there. Wishing he were anywhere but here. Harris gave Mrs. Simmons a stern glance that told her this was not some parent-teacher conference she could bluff her way through.

“The whole mess, as you put it, will only be behind us once that eagle is healed from the load of pellets that hit her. It’ll be behind us once your boy learns that shooting federally protected birds is simply not tolerated. You see, Mrs. Simmons, the only reason I agreed to allow your son to do the community service here at my center is because I have the hope that your son will learn enough by being around raptors not to ever want to shoot them again. Nor any other bird—not an eagle, hawk, owl, not even a sparrow. And that he’ll pass on what he’s learned to his peers. And his family.”

Then he shifted his gaze to the boy. “You got that?”

Brady swung his head around, eyes widened in surprise at the direct question. Recouping his cool, he shrugged noncommittally, then looked down at his feet.

“I didn’t hear you,” Harris said.

“I get it.”

Harris studied the boy, but his passive expression revealed little besides contempt.

“Then that’s settled,” Harris said to Mrs. Simmons. “I expect him here every Saturday morning at nine sharp and every Wednesday afternoon by three. We won’t be waiting on him to show up. Three late shows and he’s out. You can pick him up today at two, unless he wants a lunch break, in which case you can pick him up at three. He brings his own meal, water and whatever else he wants. Any questions? No? Then we’ll be seeing you later this afternoon, Mrs. Simmons.”

“I’ll be here at two, since I didn’t make a lunch. Hear, Brady?”

“Yes’m. Two o’clock.”

Harris turned to the boy. “Come on, then,” he said, catching himself from calling him boy. “Let’s get started.” He fixed him with a stern look. “I hope you won’t make me think this was a mistake.”

Harris found Elijah in the rear of the clinic, cutting long strips of Astro Turf. Already he’d covered two six-foot perches. They were leaning against the wall looking tightly fitted and clean.

“Hey, Lijah! Mind if you slow down a bit? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Lijah turned from the perch he was bent over to face him, a greeting on his lips. The smile of welcome slipped, however, and recognition sparked in his eyes when he saw the blond young man at his side. He straightened from his task and turned to face them with his shoulders erect.

Harris waved the boy closer. He followed with dragging feet. “This here’s Brady Simmons. I suspect you know who he is.”

Lijah nodded without comment. Even in his baggy jacket and faded pants, Harris thought a king could not be more regal. Turning to the boy Harris said, “This is Mr. Elijah Cooper. It was his eagle that you shot.”

Surprise and confusion flickered across Brady’s features. Harris was gratified to see the boy’s cheeks flush before he ducked his head.

“Lijah, you recall we talked about this boy doing community service here?”

“I recall.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

“I don’t have a problem, long as he don’t give me a problem.”

“Right. I thought it only fitting that I put him in your charge, if you’re willing.”

“I’m willing.”

“Well, there’s no shortage of chores to be done, we both know that.” He looked around at the rows of stacked dog kennels lined up along the wall. Each one of them was filthy with streaks of black, green and white smears of bird mutes, spores of mildew, mold and mud. “Looks like we’ve got an overflow of kennels that need cleaning. We could maybe start him off with that.”

Brady’s head shot up. “I thought I was going to be working with the birds.”

Harris’s eyes flashed. He wanted to tell him hell would freeze over before he’d let him touch his birds. He took a moment to rein in his anger at the kid’s arrogance before saying in a level voice, “Let’s get this understood right from the start. No one gets to care for the birds without approval. Not any volunteer. And you, Brady Simmons, are not a volunteer. You’re going to have to work extra long and extra hard to earn that approval from me. We’re all here to serve those birds. It’s not the other way around.”

“That be right,” Lijah interjected with feeling.

Brady shot the old man a wary glance.

“You’ll start working with a by-product of birds. See that bottled soap over there? And those scrub brushes? And that hose? Lijah here’s going to show you how to use all that stuff along with some of that muscle power you’ve got to scrub clean every one of those kennels.”

Brady’s eyes smoldered in dismay at seeing the fourteen dog kennels ranging in size from small to extra large. “All of them?”

“Well, that’s all there are for now. More come every day. They’ll keep you busy.”

“But…they’re covered with caked-on bird shit!”

Harris was enjoying the boy’s agony and had to hold back a smile. “We prefer to call it mutes. Makes it somehow easier. But the truth is, bird shit is just part of living with birds. You’ll be scrubbing a lot of mutes in the next six months. Mutes from kennels, mutes from perches, mutes from pens, mutes from towels. We all do it. Pretty soon you won’t think twice about it. Isn’t that right, Lijah?”

“Don’t bother me none.”

Harris grinned, then turned to the boy. “See what I mean? So, I’ll be leaving you in Lijah’s excellent care.”

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