Stephen Dixon - Long Made Short

It was still there. “I don’t want to put my head near its heart or beak, for those things can bite. No wonder I hit it. Look at its size.” “Kick it,” she said, walking over. “You mean nudge it with my foot. Okay. But if it jumps it’s going to startle me.” He touched it with the tip of his shoe, then jabbed it. The crow moved but didn’t seem alive. “Think it’s alive but just pretending?” he said. “I wouldn’t doubt it — Seriously,” she said, “I don’t think so. I think it got that heart attack or the cerebral equal of one — a flying stroke or something winged animals get only when they’re flying, and not particularly when people below are shooting their fingers at them, but that’s all. Your bang-bang and its fatal heart failure or stroke are only coincidental, one chance in a million, and it came up today.” “I hope so. Because I wouldn’t want to personally kill anything living like that. But come on, crow,” he said to the bird, “move, move, get up, fly or walk away. Do your messy garbage-bag biting and picking, your squawking, keeping us up when we want to take afternoon naps or sleep late. Do what the hell you’re supposed to and don’t make me feel bad, because the one-in-a-million coincidence I can’t prove.”

The crow began fidgeting, stood up — they backed away — flapped its wings, seemed to be testing its feet out on the ground, flapped some more, tried to fly, looked at them, walked backward away from them a few feet, flapped harder while it walked frontward even farther away from them and took off, flew a few inches off the ground several yards, then up to the sky. He pointed his finger at it, held his wrist while he got a bead on it. She said “Don’t chance it; not today. Maybe you did kill it and then your little entreaty before brought it back to life, and you won’t be so fortunate the next time.” He said “Just a test to prove my supernatural or whatever-you-want-to-call-them powers — powers I never had that I know of but am now naturally curious to see if I do — Hold it. Steady, steady. I’ve got it. Bang-bang. And bang, just in case.” The crow flew on, settled in a tree. “Maybe I missed.” “Or you wounded it,” she said. “Well, I’m not going to find out. In fact, no more games or tests like that. In fact, I’m throwing away my gun,” and flicked his hand to the side. They heard a clump in the grass about ten feet away in the direction he’d flicked to. “You believe that?” “It must be a rabbit or squirrel,” she said, “or a mouse.” “Probably a mouse.” “But then again, who knows? Though we should try to find out.”

She went over to where they’d heard the clump. Nothing moved. “Maybe it’s already gone,” she said. “Or it could have been something that just went down a hole, didn’t need to go through the grass. But we won’t tell anybody about all this, okay?” “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a good story to tell, raises lots of interesting questions, puts what you didn’t think you thought right out there, right? And we’re having dinner with the Chamberlains later and they’re so dull that they’re wonderful to shock, so why not?” “It might be somewhat off-putting to them. They’ll think we’re getting loony and they’ll tell people, and then everyone will think we’ve become peculiar.” “Let them,” he said. “If they don’t like it, let them ostracize us too. Then we won’t have to return the dinner invitation to the Chamberlains and all our other dull neighbors who sort of force us to socialize more than we like. Let the whole town know, for all I care. It’ll give us more time to ourselves and what we really like to do. Like reading, for God’s sake. I’m going in to read. Like a good cup of hot tea, or a drink?” “I’ll make it for you,” she said. “No, it was my suggestion, and what I want to do, and you put up and will probably still have to put up with all my antics today, so I’ll make it for you.”

A crow in the tree that their crow flew in crowed. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be the one you shot at,” she said. “That’s a favorite resting and gabbing place of theirs,” he said. “In fact — I just figured it out — I bet it’s nesting there, or protecting a nest of another crow there. That’s why it swooped down on us. Because I’ve never seen one so aggressive, except with dogs and cats.” “It could be sick,” she said, “distemper, or whatever crows get.” “No, it looked too healthy on the ground. Children, wonderful, just what we need around here, more crows. But I like the idea of an animal protecting its young or soon-to-be young or someone else’s.” A crow crowed from the tree. “See, it agrees with me. We won’t tell the Chamberlains this part, because it’s getting too silly. But this, yes,” and he aimed his finger at the tree and said “Bang-bang-bang, bang-bang, bang, bang, bang-bang,” moving his finger around to different places in the tree. He imagined several crows dropping out. “Ah, wonderful, a longer sleep tomorrow morning, maybe even after that a caw-free afternoon nap. Actually, I’m glad I didn’t hit any. Some of them might have been young. Let’s go in before we truly get silly.” “Did we shut off the cellar light?” she said. “I don’t remember. I’ll see you inside. Put up the water, or take out the ice tray,” and he headed for the cellar. A crow crowed from the tree. “That a boy,” he said, “or that a girl. Whatever you are, crow, crow.” What I’d like to know, he thought, peering into the cellar and seeing it was dark, is why I didn’t hear her breathing or feel her neck pulse or her heartbeat when I checked. The pulse, even in the neck, can be a little difficult to find, and I was nervous. Even her heartbeat, but her breath? He flipped the cellar doors closed with his feet. They made a loud double bang, and she yelled from kitchen window “What’s that?” “Just closing things up,” he said, “and the light was out. You do it? Because I don’t remember I did,” and he went inside.

Gordon hears voices in his head again today. They tell him don’t go out, stay in, don’t bother to make lunch, have a snack, say something nice to your wife next time you see her, don’t be a fake, make sure to give your kids a kiss when you pick them up and ask them what they did, where’re you going? what’re you doing? stay put, get up, run in place a bit, don’t budge, read, nap, think about things, think about Louise.

He thinks about Louise. She was very young when he first knew her, they both were, three, four, five years old. They played together for years. Her house, his. She once let him see her with her panties down. People said they were like husband and wife sometimes. That they were sure to marry each other when they grew up. “Do you want to?” they asked and he said yes. “Do you want to?” they asked her and she said “I don’t know, I think so, it’s not something you can just say, maybe yes.” He took her to his basement. That was one of the places they played. He said he’d give her something, he forgets what, no doubt something he thought valuable and which she would too, and she said “Don’t tell, don’t ever tell or I’ll never play with you again,” and showed, let his eyes stay on it for a few seconds from a few feet away, and when he stuck his hand out to touch, he wasn’t going to go further, he didn’t know there was anything further, she said “Don’t be a pig,” and pulled her panties up and dropped her dress over them. They continued to play together a few more years, but less and then much less. She had her girl friends, he had his friends, all boys. He last saw her when she was around ten. They’d been going to different schools for a couple of years, she to a parochial one, he to a public. She moved off the block. He didn’t know she had till she was gone. That was it, never saw or heard from her or anything about her again.