Chasing Redbird (25 page)

I looked at the body's head. Its eyes were closed.

“If you can talk, I guess you're not dead.”

The body said, “When I open my eyes, how will I know if I'm dead or alive?”

“Well, now, you'll see me, you'll see the meadow, you'll see the tree you fell out of, so I guess you'll know you're alive.”

“But how will I know if I'm here or if I'm at Rooks Orchard?”

“I don't know anything about any rook or any orchard, so I can pretty much guarantee that you are here and not there. Why don't you open your eyes and have a look around?”

And so the body opened his eyes and slowly sat up and looked all around—at the green meadow, at the cows in the distance, at the tree out of which he had fallen, and at me, and then he yelled, “Oh
no
!” and fell back on the ground and his eyes closed and he was dead again.

N
o sooner had the body laid back down than I heard the warbling voice of Lizzie Scatterding. Lizzie often felt it necessary to sing—in a high, trembly, warbly opera voice—when she was outdoors.

“Oh, lar-de-dar, the sky so blue”—definitely Lizzie—“the fields so green, oh lar-de-dar—”

Lizzie was my friend, and usually I was glad to see her, but I was not sure how she was going to handle seeing the body at my feet. Sometimes Lizzie could be a little dramatic.

“Oh, lar-de-dar—Naomi! Is that you?” Lizzie stopped in the middle of the path and crossed her hands over her chest as if to keep her fragile heart steady. “Naomi!” She ran toward me, her frizzy mane flopping here and there.

“Ack! Naomi, what is
that
? Is that a person?” She inched her way around to stand in back of me so that I was her shield. “Who is it? Where'd it come from? Is it
dead
?” She clutched my shoulders. “You didn't
kill
it, did you?”

“It fell out of this here tree. I thought it was dead, but then it spoke, and now it's gone off again.”

I kneeled beside the body and put my hand on its chest.

“Is it breathing?” Lizzie asked. “Take its pulse.”

I held the body's wrist. “I can feel something gurgling in there.”

“Oh, my! Then it's alive. Have you ever seen it before? What did it say when it spoke—before it went off again?”

“Something about a rook's orchard, or maybe a crook's orchard.”

Lizzie's foot nudged the body's foot. “Maybe it was in an orchard place and a crook tried to kill it and so he hid in this tree and then when you came along—”

“Maybe we should stop calling it an
it
.”

Lizzie studied the body's face. “Never saw it before, did you?”

“Nope.”

“Look in its pockets, Naomi. See if it has something with its name on it.”

“I'm not looking in any boy's pockets, dead or alive. You look.”

Just then the body grunted. Lizzie skittered sideways like a crab.

“Good gracious! I swear to bats! It's alive!” Her hands were protecting her fragile heart again. “Naomi, the poor
thing
. What if his internal organs are hurt? What if he is bleeding to death and we don't even know it? Naomi, you must get help.”

The body spoke. “Am I here—?”

Lizzie squealed. “It has a voice!”

Its eyes were still closed. “Am I here—or am I there?”

I touched his hand. “You're here.”

“How will I know that?”

“Well, ding it, you are
here
. If you weren't here, you wouldn't be hearing me, would you? You'd be somewhere else. But you're not somewhere else,
you are here
!”

“Naomi, you don't have to be so harsh. It's a poor body lying there maybe bleeding to death and it just wants to know if it is here.”

“Fine. Then you take over, Doctor Lizzie.”

“I
will
.” Lizzie carefully placed herself beside the body, folding her legs daintily beneath her. “Now,” she cooed in the softest of tones, “everything will be just fine. We need to find out who you are and if you are injured in your internal organs.”

The body was silent.

Lizzie inched a little closer. “Boy, can you tell me your name?”

Silence.

“Boy, do you have family around here?”

Silence.

“Naomi, do you have a cool cloth?”

“No, Lizzie, I do not happen to have a cool cloth on my person.”

“I feel we should put a cool cloth on this poor injured boy's forehead.”

“I don't have a cool cloth.”

Lizzie sighed a deep, meaningful sigh. “Oh, dear, oh, dear.” She lightly touched her fingers to the boy's head. Then she leaned closer and blew on his forehead.

“Whatever are you doing, Lizzie?”

“I am cooling the poor boy, Naomi. I am bringing comfort until such time as he can rouse himself.”

“What if he can't ever rouse himself? What if he dies for good?”

Lizzie tapped the boy's shoulder. “Please do try your best to rouse yourself and tell us your name.”

Silence.

“I am pleading with you, boy.”

Silence.

“Naomi, you will have to get help. I will stay here with the poor, injured boy. Please go. Please hurry.”

But before I could move, the boy spoke again. “Don't take the gold.”

“Naomi, he spoke! He told us not to take the gold!”

“I've got ears, Lizzie. I heard him.” I tapped his arm.

“What gold?”

Silence.

I scanned the area. No gold in sight. I asked louder: “WHAT GOLD?”

“Naomi, please don't shout at the poor, injured boy.”

The boy opened his eyes.

“Naomi, he opened his eyes.”

“For heaven's sake, Lizzie, I'm not blind.”

“My name is Finn.”

“Naomi, he said his name! He said his name! His name is Finn!”

“There isn't any gold,” he said.

“Naomi, he said—”

“I know, I know what he said. There isn't any gold. There isn't any silver, either. There aren't any emeralds or rubies or diamonds—”

“—He didn't say any of that, Naomi. He only said about the gold.”

“No gold,” the boy repeated.

“See?” Lizzie said. “No gold.”

W
hile Naomi and Lizzie were learning the name of the body that fell from a tree, across the ocean in a stately manor on the southeastern coast of Ireland, the elderly Mrs. Kavanagh paused as she wrote on a piece of fine parchment. She placed the pen to one side and tapped a finger on the desk.

“There. Enough for now.” She smiled a wistful smile. “'T'will be a fine, fine revenge.”

Her companion, Miss Pilpenny, recapped the pen. “Yes, Sybil, a fine and clever revenge.”

“Shall we have a murder tonight?”

“Indeed, Sybil. Splendid notion.”

“And then perhaps a little jam and bread.”

“Indeed. That plum jam from the Master's orchard?”

Old Mrs. Kavanagh laughed, a sudden girlish burst that was followed by prolonged wheezing.

Miss Pilpenny rubbed the old lady's back until the wheezing subsided. “There, there. You can rest now.”

T
he body named Finn asked if we had any sweets on us.

“Candy?” I said.

“Yes. Can-dee,” he said, as if he had never said the word before.

Then he asked if we had any can-dee drink.

“Candy drink?” Lizzie said. “Whatever do you mean, Finn boy?”

By this time, Finn had sat up and commenced to scratching himself: his head, his neck, his belly, his ankles. “You call it, wait, you call it—soda pop. You got any of that?”

You could take one look at me and Lizzie and see that neither one of us was carrying anything whatsoever, so where would we be stashing soda pop?

“No soda pop,” I said.

Apparently Lizzie thought I was too abrupt. She smiled at Finn and put her hands together under her chin. “I think this boy needs some refreshment, Naomi. I think this boy is hungry and thirsty.”

“I think this boy is old enough to say what he wants, Lizzie. I think this boy is not invisible.”

Lizzie ignored me. “Finn boy, are you entirely sure you are not bleeding from your internal organs? Because if you are, you should not move, and we should send Naomi for help. But if you are not bleeding from your internal organs, then perhaps we should escort you home, if you would be so kind as to tell us where that might be, Finn boy.”

“No. No help,” Finn said, leaping to his feet.

“Oh, my,” Lizzie said. “Are you entirely sure you should be upright?”

“I'm fine, fine.” Finn rotated his head and his hands. He lifted one foot and then the other. “I'll be going now.” Finn turned and started off across the meadow.

“But wait,” Lizzie called. “Wait, wait, Finn boy!” She ran up behind him. “Won't you let us escort you home? What if you become faint along the way? What if—”

“I can make it fine.”

Lizzie was protecting her fragile heart again. “But, Finn boy, at least tell us where you live. We've never seen you in these here parts before.”

Finn looked to the left and right and then to the sky above. “I'm staying up the hill apiece.”

“Up that hill?” I said. “Black Dog Night Hill?”