Percival Everett - Suder

“I came by to see your Loxodonta africana again,” Beckwith says as he enters. He stops when he sees Sid and he turns to me.

“A guest,” I tell him.

“Why is he tied up?”

“He wants to kill me.”

“Why?”

“He’s crazy,” I tell him.

Beckwith looks around and sees Jincy. “Everyone in town is looking for you.”

“You didn’t tell anybody where I am, did you?” Jincy asks.

Beckwith shakes his head and then he looks at Renoir. “Damn,” he says, “that’s one fine specimen.” He pauses. “Are you going to tell me where you got him?”

“Won him in a bet.”

Beckwith just looks at me. “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”

“I told you.”

“Okay, okay. So, what are you going to do with him?” He’s pointing at Sid.

“Keep him tied up.”

“I can call the sheriff from my place.”

“No, thanks.”

Beckwith looks at Renoir and Jincy and then nods. “I understand.” He looks at Renoir again. “Beautiful.”

“Do me a favor,” I says. “Put your hand up here on my face and tell me if I’ve got a fever.”

He puts his hand on my forehead and shakes his head. “Seems normal.”

I pull away from him. “Jesus, you’re as bad as she is.” I’m pointing at Jincy. “I’m burning up.”

“Untie me so I can see,” says Sid. “Let me touch your face.”

“I don’t think so,” I says.

Beckwith leaves and Jincy is staring at me.

“What is it?” I ask her.

“Just who did you kiss?”

“Just some woman.”

“Why?”

“Because she had a cold.” I sniff. “And now I’ve got it.”

“And what about him?” She’s pointing at Sid.

“What about him?”

“He says you stole his money.” She pulls out the briefcase and opens it. “This money.”

Sid gasps.

“I didn’t steal it, I ended up with it,” I tell her. “He was trying to kill me.”

Jincy’s eyes are wet. “Why’d you kiss her?”

“I needed her cold.” I turn and walk out. “Jesus,” I mutter as I slam the door and I walk off toward the lake. I don’t know how to read Jincy’s behavior. It seems like she’s jealous and I figure it’s natural, but it’s more complicated — like she thinks I’m her boyfriend.

I sat by the pond for a long time, watching the ducks and tossing stones into the water and thinking. Ma had me scared to death and I didn’t know what to think about Naomi. She had caused some unfamiliar feelings to stir within me. When dark came I headed home. My eyes scanned the ground. Martin had left off shooting sparrows, so there were none.

As I approached the house I saw Bud. He was in the backyard. I watched him as he untied Django. The dog went running off.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, running to Bud.

He was startled. “Oh, Bird,” he said.

“Why?”

“I just couldn’t stand to see him tied up.”

“But Mr. Simpson—”

“That’s called a chance,” Bud said and started back toward the house. I walked with him. “If Mr. Simpson shoots him, then he shoots him. At least the dog is free to get shot.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “The dog doesn’t know anything.”

Bud stopped at the door and turned to me. “Nothing’s fair and nobody knows anything. That’s just the way it is.” He looked at my puzzled expression. “You don’t understand. Don’t worry, what I’m saying doesn’t make any sense.”

Then a rifle shot rang out. “It’s your fault!” I cried and hit him in the stomach.

He stared at me without expression. Then he stepped into the house.

Bud was gone when I woke up the next morning. I sat in the living room and recalled his playing.

Sid’s been tied up for some days now and he’s complaining that his circulation has stopped, even though I’ve let him up to walk around the cabin a few times. He’s also complaining about the fact that he’s only had eggs and bacon to eat.

“Eggs and bacon, bacon and eggs.” Sid turns his cheek to the loaded fork.

“Eat it,” Jincy says, poking Sid’s face with the fork.

“Hey!” Sid yells. “How’d you like me to poke you in the face?”

“Eat!”

“I’m sick of eggs and bacon.”

“Eat!”

I’m sitting at the table, doing my neck exercises and looking at my wing plans. I need some plastic tubing and strong thin plastic, like garbage bags. I get up and grab my hat.

“Where are you going?” Jincy asks.

“To town. You need anything?”

“Food,” Sid says.

“What are you going to town for?”

“Materials,” I answer. “For my wings.” I look at Jincy’s silent face for a second and then I leave.

So, I’m in town and I’m looking across the counter in the general store at the fella with the buck teeth and the enormous forehead. On the counter I’ve got plastic tubing and about a dozen boxes of trash bags of assorted kinds.

“What do you need all these trash bags for?” asks the clerk.

I think at first it’s none of his business, but I says, “You expect me to fly without wings?”

He just looks at me.

“I’m going to fly off Willet Rock.”

The clerk laughs and looks at the merchandise on the counter. “Looks like fifteen dollars.”

“I’m serious,” I tell him, handing him a twenty-dollar bill.

He gives me my change and laughs louder. “I like you.” He catches his breath and looks at me. “They tell me you’re Craig Suder, the ballplayer. Why ain’t you playing ball?”

I collect my goods and I leave and waiting for me by my truck is ugly Marsha.

“Hi there,” says Marsha.

“Hey.”

“It’s good to see you.” She puts her foot on the running board of the truck and pulls her skirt over her knee.

I’m looking at her fat leg and noticing her fat ankle and I says, “Excuse me.” And I reach for the door handle.

She catches my hand and kisses it. “I love you.”

“Excuse me.” I move her leg and I open the door and get into the truck.

“I’ll do anything for you,” she says and moves her bushy eyebrows up and down. “Anything.” She touches her nose with her tongue.

I shake my head and start the engine and drive away. I look in the mirror and see her yelling at me and giving me the finger.

On the road I see a pheasant that’s been hit by a car and I get out and toss it into the truck. I need the feathers for my wings. I figure a couple more road kills and the stuffed birds in the cabin should offer enough feathers.

I drive on and I’m feeling sorry for ugly Marsha, but I ain’t about to go back and try to make her feel better. Then I start to wonder what I should do with Sid and I think that maybe I can just untie him and force him to leave at gunpoint. I doubt it.

“I don’t see why it matters all that much where I glue the feathers,” Jincy says.

I look across the table at her. “It matters.” I’ve built the frames of the wings with plastic tubing. Each frame is like a big horseshoe, about as tall as me, with slats running across the width. I’ve sorted out the strongest trash bags and cut them into strips and wrapped the strips around the frames. The feathers are going on one at a time.

“This is really boring,” Jincy says.

I nod.

Jincy glues on another feather. “Will these things work?” I’m silent for a second and then, “Uh-huh.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

She pushes the feathers away and puts her head on folded arms on the table. “I don’t want you to do this.” “Want me to do what?” I tip my beret up. “Jump.”

“I’m not jumping, I’m flying.” I stick on another feather.