Tracy Guzeman - The Gravity of Birds

When Alice was younger, her father had fashioned a rough mask from evergreen needles and lake grass glued to a rotten shell of pine bark, shed like a skin. He secured it to the end of their canoe with heavy yellow cord, telling Alice their ancient Dutch relatives believed water fairies lived in the figureheads of ships, protecting the vessels and their sailors from all manner of ills—storms, narrow and treacherous passageways, fevers, and bad luck. Kaboutermannekes he called them. If the ship ran aground, or even worse, if it sank, the Kaboutermannekes would guide the seafarers’ souls to the Land of the Dead. Without a water fairy to guide him, a sailor’s soul would be lost at sea forever. Natalie, locked in place on the rocky shore, did not look like she would protect any of them from anything.

Alice lounged on the dock that first morning, listening to her parents talk about all the things they might do with the day. They never moved from their chairs, only shifted from one hip to the other, their skin smeared white with contrails of suntan lotion, their eyes invisible behind dark glasses, their fingers intertwined until they traded sections of newspaper or reached for their Bloody Marys. When the dog suddenly appeared on the dock, a low growl deep in its throat, Alice’s mother drew her feet up onto the chair, alarmed. They heard a voice coming from the deep part of the woods, calling sharply, ‘Neela. Neela, come here right now.’

‘She’s really harmless, just suffers from ‘small dog complex’ is all’ was what he said. She was tempted to say in return, ‘You’re not what I expected,’ but held her tongue.

She stopped at the back door to Thomas’s cabin, the books tight in her hand, and took a deep breath, brushing the forest from her feet: a stain of pitch, the powdery dust of dry leaves, a citron smear of moss. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t visited him before, but her parents had always known exactly where she was, had waved and shouted after her, Don’t be a bother and don’t overstay your welcome . In that moment she realized what it was to be Natalie, to know what you shouldn’t do, and to do it anyway.

The paint on the door was tired brown fading to gray, cracked and buckled as alligator hide, chunky flakes of it falling to the ground as she brushed against it. She folded up the right sleeve of her shirt to hide the damp cuff she’d let dangle in the lake while reading. The wet of it soaked through, cooling a patch of her skin, but the rest of her body felt like a thing on fire, all twitchy and skittering. She rocked on her heels, holding her books to her chest. When she touched the doorknob it felt electric in her hand, hot from a shaft of sunlight slicing between the pines. She held on to it, letting it burn against her palm.

A breeze shifted across the lake, carrying with it the echo of gulls and the pungent smell of alewives rotting onshore after last night’s storm. Alice looked up through the maze of branches knotted overhead, to the bright washed sky. Her head swam, and she held the doorknob more firmly in her hand.

Feel free to visit whenever you like , he’d said. At the time of the invitation her mother nodded hesitantly, eyeing Bayber’s dog as the animal sniffed and scratched its way from plank to plank. Her father pulled himself up from the weathered Adirondack, causing the dock to sway slightly beneath them. With that unexpected movement something shifted, and Alice felt they were suddenly different people from the family they’d been only moments before.

‘Felicity Kessler,’ her mother said, offering her hand. ‘This is my husband, Niels. We rent the Restons’ cabin every August. You must know Myrna, Mrs. Reston?’

‘My family doesn’t let me out very often.’ He winked at her mother, and Alice was appalled to see her mother’s cheeks color. ‘Myrna’s—Mrs. Reston’s—name may have come up in conversation, but I haven’t yet had the pleasure.’

‘Lucky you, on that count,’ her father said.

‘Niels!’

‘I’m only joking, of course. As my wife will tell you, Mr. Bayber, it can be useful to have the acquaintance of someone so … well-informed.’

‘Please, I only answer to Thomas.’ He was wearing a dark sweater unraveling at the cuffs with a white button-down beneath it and paint-spattered khakis. A wicker basket piled with grapes swayed in one of his hands. ‘Here,’ he said, handing the basket to her father. ‘Our property’s thick with them. It seems criminal to let them go to waste when they’re ripe.’

When no one replied, he forged on, undeterred by the guarded look on her father’s face.

‘Consider them a peace offering. An apology for Neela, here. She and I have a great deal in common, chief being that, according to my mother, we’re both completely untrainable.’

That was the moment Alice liked him. Up until then she’d merely thought him strange, with his paint-spotted clothes, unruly hair, and eyes the same gray as the morning lake. Too sure of himself and too tall. And he stared at them—something her mother constantly admonished her not to do—but nonetheless there he was, staring at them quite deliberately and making no attempt to hide it, as if he could see past their fleshy outlines and deep inside them, into the places where they hid their weaknesses and embarrassments.

She wasn’t used to people speaking so directly, especially not at the lake, where adult conversations were burdened with enthusiasm and insincerity. We must get together while you’re here! You must come over for cocktails! What charming, attractive children you have! I’ll call soon! With August stretched out before her, she’d been sure her only excitement would be found in the books she’d brought. Living next door to someone completely untrainable sounded like salvation.

‘I’m Alice,’ she said, reaching down to pat Neela’s head. ‘What sort of dog is she?’

He towered over her. His eyelashes were black and as long as a girl’s and his hair was black and long as well, curling up around the pointed ends of his collar.

‘Alice. Pleased to meet you. Well, no one seems sure of her parentage. I have my suspicions, but, being a gentleman, one hesitates to make accusations. There’s a border collie and a Yorkie we usually see sitting on the porch of the market in town. Neela starts up with an earsplitting racket whenever we drive past. I’m quite sure they must be relatives of hers.’

Alice shielded her eyes from the sun in an attempt to get a better look at him. ‘So you and Neela come here often?’

He laughed, but it was a dry, cracked sound without a trace of happiness. ‘Lord, no. My parents have owned this property for decades, but have too much leisure time on their hands to actually vacation. Relaxation is very hard for the rich. There’s always something that needs to be watched, some event requiring an appearance.’ He glanced at her mother before adding, ‘Mrs. Reston may have mentioned they’re quite wealthy.’

Alice watched her mother’s throat work as she swallowed slowly and looked down to examine the planks of the dock. Her father choked on his Bloody Mary before laughing and slapping Thomas Bayber on the back. ‘And you said you’d never met the woman. Ha!’

Thomas smiled. ‘Up until now circumstances have prevented me from spending any time in this tranquil community.’ He gazed out across the lake. ‘But now arrived earlier this year, in no uncertain terms, speaking in an emphatic voice that sounded amazingly like my father’s. So I’ve been here since June, using their summer house as a studio. I paint, as you may be able to tell.’ He gestured toward his clothes and shrugged. ‘Not something my father considers a suitable occupation.’