Dangerous Angels (7 page)

The chain saws were buzzing like giant razors. Witch Baby pressed her palms over her ears.

“What is going on?” Coyote cried, padding into the cottage.

Witch Baby had hardly ever heard Coyote raise his voice before. She curled up under the clock, and he knelt beside her so that his long braid brushed her cheek. She saw the full veins in his callused hands, the turquoise-studded band, blood-blue, at his wrist.

“Where is everyone, my little bald one?” he asked gently.

“They went to the street fair.”

“And they left you here with the dying trees?”

“I didn’t want to go with them.”

Coyote put his hand on Witch Baby’s head. It fit perfectly like a cap. His touch quieted the saws for a moment and stilled the blood beating at Witch Baby’s naked temples. “Why not?” he asked.

“I get lonely with them.”

“With all that big family you have?”

“More than when I’m alone.”

Coyote nodded. “I would rather be alone most of the time. It’s quieter. Someday I will live in the desert again with the Joshua trees.” He took a handkerchief out of his leather backpack and unfolded it. Inside were five seeds. “Joshua tree seeds,” he said. “In the blue desert moonlight, if you put your arms around Joshua trees and are very quiet, you can hear them speaking to you. Sometimes, if you turn around fast enough, you can catch them dancing behind your back.”

Coyote squinted out the window at the falling branches, the whirlwind of leaves, blossoms and dust.

“Now I’m going to do something about those tree murderers.” He went to the phone book, found the number of the school across the street, and called.

“I need to speak to the principal. It’s about the trees.”

He waited, drumming his fingers. Witch Baby crept up beside him, peering over the tabletop at the sunset desert of his face.

“Is this the principal? I’d like to ask you why you are cutting those trees down. I would think that a school would be especially concerned. Do you know how long it takes trees to grow? Especially in this foul air?”

The saws kept buzzing brutally while he spoke. Witch Baby thought about the jacaranda trees across the street. Coyote had told her that all trees have spirits, and she imagined women with long, light-boned limbs and falls of
whispery green hair, dark Coyote men with skin like clay as it smooths on the potter’s wheel. Some might even be hairless girls like Witch Baby—the purple-eyed spirits of jacaranda trees.

Finally, Coyote put the phone down. He and Witch Baby sat together at the window, wincing as all the trees in front of the school became a woodpile scattered with purple blossoms.

Coyote is like My Secret and me, Witch Baby thought, feeling the warmth of his presence beside her. But he recognizes that I am like him and My Secret doesn’t see.

Witch Baby’s almost-family came home and saw them still sitting there. Weetzie invited Coyote to stay for dinner but he solemnly shook his head.

“I couldn’t eat anything after what we saw today,” he said.

That night, when everyone else was asleep, Witch Baby unfolded the handkerchief she had stolen from Coyote’s backpack and looked at the five Joshua tree seeds. They seemed to glow, and she thought she heard them whispering as she crept out the window and into the moonlight. In the soil from which the jacaranda trees had been torn, Witch Baby knelt and planted Coyote’s five seeds, imagining how one day she and Coyote would fling their arms around five Joshua trees. If she was very quiet she might be able to hear the trees telling her the secrets of the desert.

“Where are they?”

Coyote stood towering above Witch Baby’s bed. She blinked up at him, her dreams of singing trees passing away like clouds across the moon, until she saw his face clearly. His hair was unbraided and fell loose around his shoulders.

“Where are my Joshua tree seeds, Witch Baby?”

Witch Baby sat up in bed. It was early morning and still quiet. There was no buzzing today; all the trees were already down.

“I planted them for you,” she said.

Coyote looked as if the sound of chain saws were still filling his head. “What? You planted them? Where did you plant them? Those were special seeds. My Secret Agent Lover Man brought them to me from the desert. I told him I had to take them back the next time I went, because Joshua trees grow only on sacred desert ground. They’ll never grow where you planted them.”

“But I planted them in front of the school because of yesterday. They’ll grow there and we’ll always be able to look at them and listen to what they tell us.”

“They’ll never grow,” Coyote said. “They are lost.”

Witch Baby spent the next three nights clutching a flashlight and digging in the earth in front of the school for the Joshua tree seeds, but there was no sign of them. Her fingers ached, the nails full of soil, the knuckles scratched
by rocks and twigs. She was kneeling in dirt, covered in dirt, wishing for the tree spirits to take her away with them to a place where Joshua trees sang and danced in the blue moonlight.

It was Dirk who found Witch Baby digging in the dirt. He was taking a late-night run on his glowing silver Nikes when he noticed the spot of light flitting over the ground in front of the school. Then he saw the outline of a tree spirit crouched in the darkness. He ran over and called to Witch Baby.

“What are you doing out here, Miss Witch?”

Witch Baby flicked off the flashlight and didn’t answer, but when Dirk came over, she let him lift her in his beautiful, sweaty arms and carry her into the house. She leaned against him, limp with exhaustion.

“Never go off at night by yourself anymore,” Dirk said as he tucked her into bed. “If you want, you can wake me and we can go on a run. I know what it’s like to feel scared and awake in the night. Sometimes I could go dig in the earth too, when I feel that way.”

Before Witch Baby fell asleep that night she looked at the picture she had taken of Dirk and Duck at the party. Dirk, who looked even taller than he was because of his
Mohawk and thick-soled creepers, was pretending to balance a champagne glass on Duck’s flat-top and Duck’s blue eyes were rolled upward, watching the glass. Almost anyone could see by the picture that Dirk and Duck were in love.

Dirk and Duck are different from most people too, Witch Baby thought. Sometimes they must feel like they don’t belong just because they love each other.

When Dirk and Duck announced that they were going to Santa Cruz to visit Duck’s family, Witch Baby asked if she could go with them.

“I’m sorry, Witch Baby,” Dirk said, rubbing his hand over the fuzz that had grown back on her scalp. “Duck and I need to spend some time alone together. Someday, when you are in love, you will understand.”

“Besides, I haven’t seen my family in years,” Duck said. “It might be kind of an intense scene. We’ll bring you back some mini-Birkenstock sandals from Santa Cruz, though.”

But Witch Baby didn’t want Birkenstocks. And she already understood about spending time with the person you love. She wanted to go to Santa Cruz with Dirk and Duck, especially since she could never go anywhere with Raphael.

I’ll be a stowaway, Witch Baby thought.

Dirk and Duck put their matching surfboards, their black-and-yellow wet suits, their flannel shirts, long underwear, Guatemalan shorts, hooded mole-man sweatshirts, Levi’s and Vans and Weetzie’s avocado sandwiches into Dirk’s red 1955 Pontiac, Jerry, and kissed everyone
good-bye—everyone except for Witch Baby, who had disappeared.

“I hope she’s okay,” Weetzie said.

“She’s just hiding,” said My Secret Agent Lover Man.

“Give the witch child these.” Duck handed Weetzie a fresh box of Fig Newtons. He did not know that Witch Baby was hidden in Jerry’s trunk, eating the rest of the Newtons he had packed away there.

On the way to Santa Cruz Dirk and Duck stopped along the coast to surf. They stopped so many times to surf and eat (they finished the avocado sandwiches in the first fifteen minutes and bought sunflower seeds, licorice, peaches and Foster’s Freeze soft ice cream along the way) that they didn’t get to Santa Cruz until late that night. Duck was driving when they arrived, and he pulled Jerry up in front of the Drake house where Duck’s mother, Darlene, lived with her boyfriend, Chuck, and Duck’s eight brothers and sisters. It was an old house, painted white, with a tangled garden and a bay window full of lace and crystals. In the driveway was a Volvo station wagon with a “Visualize World Peace” bumper sticker.

Dirk and Duck sat there in the dark car, and neither of them said anything for a long time. Witch Baby peeked out from the trunk and imagined Duck playing in the garden as a little Duck, freckled and tan. She imagined a young Duck running out the front door in a yellow wet suit with a too-big surfboard under one arm and flippers on his feet.

“I wish I could tell my mom about us,” Duck said to
Dirk, “but she’ll never understand. I think we should wait till morning to go in. I don’t want to wake them.”

“Whatever you need to do,” Dirk said. “We can go to a motel or sleep in Jerry.”

“I have a better idea,” said Duck.

That night they slept on a picnic table at the beach, wrapped in sweaters and blankets to keep them warm. Duck looked at the full moon and said to Dirk, “The moon reminds me of my mom. So does the sound of the ocean. She used to say, ‘Duck, how do you see the moon? Duck, how do you hear the ocean?’ I can’t remember how I used to answer.”

When Dirk and Duck were asleep, Witch Baby climbed out of the trunk, stretched and peed.

I wish I could play my drums so they sounded the way I hear the ocean, she thought, closing her eyes and trying to fill herself with the concert of the night.

Then she looked up at the moon.

How do I see the moon? I wish I had a real mother to ask me.

The next morning, while Witch Baby hid in Jerry’s trunk, Dirk and Duck hugged each other, surfed, took showers at the beach, put on clean clothes, slicked back their hair, hugged each other and drove to the Drake house.

Some children with upturned noses and blonde hair like Duck’s and Birkenstocks on their feet were playing with three white dogs in the garden. When Dirk and Duck
came up the path, one of the children screamed, “Duck!” All of them ran and jumped on him, covering him with kisses. Then three older children came out of the house and jumped on Duck too.

“Dirk, this is Peace, Granola, Crystal, Chi, Aura, Tahini and the twins, Yin and Yang,” Duck said. “Everybody, this is my friend, Dirk McDonald.”

A petite blonde woman wearing Birkenstocks and a sundress came out of the house. “Duck!” she cried. “Duck!” She ran to him and they embraced.

Witch Baby watched from the trunk.

“We have missed you so much,” Darlene Drake said. “Well, come in, come inside. Have some pancakes. Chuck’ll be home soon.”

Duck looked at Dirk. Then he said, “Mom, this is my friend, Dirk McDonald.”

“I’m very happy to meet you, Mrs. Drake,” Dirk said, putting out his hand.

“Hi, Dirk,” said Darlene, but she hardly glanced at him. She was staring at her oldest son. “You look more like your dad than ever,” she said, and her eyes filled with tears. “I wish he could see you!”

Dirk, Duck, Darlene and the little Drakes went into the house. Witch Baby climbed out of Jerry’s trunk and sat in the flower box, watching through the window. She saw Darlene serve Duck and Dirk whole-wheat pancakes full of bananas and pecans and topped with plain yogurt and maple syrup. A little later the kitchen door opened and
a big man with a red face came in.

“Chuck, honey, look who’s here!” Darlene said, scurrying to him.

“Well, look who decided to wander back in!” Chuck said in a deep voice. He started to laugh. “Hey, Duck-dude! We thought you drowned or something, man!”

“Chuck!” said Darlene.

Duck looked at his pancakes.

“I’m just glad he’s here now,” Darlene said. “And this is Duck’s friend…”

“Dirk,” Dirk said.

“Do you surf, Dirk?” Chuck asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, me, you and Duck can catch some Santa Cruz waves. And I’ll show you where the No-Cal babes hang,” Chuck said.

“Chuck!” said Darlene.

“Darlene hates that,” Chuck said, pinching her.

“Stop it, Chuck,” Darlene said.

Witch Baby took a photograph of Duck pushing his pancakes around in a pool of syrup while Dirk glanced from him to Chuck and back. Then she climbed in through the window, hopping onto a plate of pancakes on the kitchen table.

“Oh my!” Darlene gasped. “Who is this?”

“Witch Baby!” Dirk and Duck shouted. “How did you get here?”

“I stowed away.”

“I better call home and tell them,” Duck said. “They’re probably going crazy trying to find you.” He got up to use the phone.

“Oh, you’re a friend of Duck’s,” Darlene said as Duck left the room. “Well, stop dancing on the pancakes. You must be hungry; you’re so skinny.” She pointed at Witch Baby’s black high-top sneakers covered with rubber bugs. “And we should get you some nice sandals.”

Witch Baby thought of her toes curling out of a pair of Birkenstocks and looked down at the floor.

“They were worried about you, Witch Child,” Duck said when he came back. “Weetzie bit off all her fingernails and My Secret Agent Lover Man drove around looking for you all night. Never run away like that again!”

Did they really miss me? she wondered. Did they even know who it was who was gone?

Duck turned to his brothers and sisters, who were staring at Witch Baby with their identical sets of blue eyes. “This is my family, Peace, Granola, Crystal, Chi, Aura, Tahini and Yin and Yang Drake,” Duck said. “You guys, this is Witch Baby. She’s my…she’s our…well, she’s our pancake dancer stowawitch!”

Witch Baby bared her teeth and Yin and Yang giggled. Then all Duck’s brothers and sisters ran off to play in the garden.

In Santa Cruz, Dirk, Duck and Darlene went for walks on the beach, hiked in the redwoods, marketed for organic vegetables and tofu and fed the chickens, the goat and the rabbit. Witch Baby followed along, taking pictures, whistling, growling, doing cartwheels, flips and imitations of Rubber Chicken and Charlie Chaplin and throwing pebbles at Dirk, Duck and Darlene when they ignored her. Sometimes, when a pebble skimmed her head, Darlene would turn around, look at the girl with the fuzzy scalp and sigh.

“Where did you find her?” she said to Dirk. “I’ve never seen a child like that.” Then she would link arms with Duck and Dirk and keep walking.

“Mom, don’t say that so loud!” Duck would say. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”

But Witch Baby had already heard. She poked her tongue out at Darlene and tossed another pebble.

Clutch mother duck!

That evening, Dirk, Duck and Darlene were walking
the dogs. Witch Baby was following them, watching and listening and sniffing the sea and pine in the air.

“Dirk, you are such a gentleman,” Darlene said. “Your parents did a good job of raising you.”

“I was raised by my Grandma Fifi,” Dirk said. “My parents died when I was really little. I don’t even remember them. They were both killed in a car accident.”

Darlene’s eyes filled with tears. “Like Duck’s dad,” she said.

That night she gave both Dirk and Duck fisherman sweaters that had belonged to Duck’s dad, Eddie Drake. She didn’t give Witch Baby anything.

Witch Baby kept watching and listening and nibbling her fingernails. She hid in the closet in Duck’s old bedroom, with the fading surf pictures on the walls and the twin beds with surfing Snoopy sheets, and heard Duck and Dirk talking about Darlene’s boyfriend, Chuck.

“He is such a greaseburger!” Duck told Dirk.

“Tell me about your dad, Duck,” Dirk said. He had asked before, but Duck wouldn’t talk about Eddie Drake.

“He was a killer Malibu surfer,” Duck said. “I mean, a
fine
athlete. He had this real peaceful look on his face, a little spaced out, you know, but at peace. They were totally in love. She was Miss Zuma Beach. They fell in love when they were fourteen and, like, that was it. They had all of us one right after the other. Me while they were into the total surf scene when we lived in Malibu, Peace and Granola during their hippie-rebel phase, and then they got more
into Eastern philosophy—you know, the twins, Yin and Yang. But then he died. He was surfing.” Duck blinked the tears out of his eyes. “I still can’t talk about it,” he said.

“Duck.” Dirk touched his cheek.

“I remember, later, my mom trying to run into the water and I’m trying to hold her back and her hair and my tears are so bright that I’m blind. I knew she would have walked right into the ocean after him and kept going. In a way I wanted to go too.”

“Don’t say that, puppy,” Dirk whispered.

Witch Baby tried to swallow the sandy lump in her throat.

“But who the hell is Chuck?” Duck said. “I couldn’t believe she’d be with a greaseburger like that, so I left. Plus, I knew they’d never understand about me liking guys.”

Dirk kissed a tear that had slid onto Duck’s tan and freckled shoulder and he drew Duck into his arms, into arms that had lifted Witch Baby from the dirt the night she had been searching for the Joshua tree seeds.

Just then, Witch Baby stepped out of the closet, holding out her finger to touch Duck’s tears, wanting to share Dirk’s arms.

“What are you doing here, Witch?” Duck said, startled.

“Go back to bed, Witch Baby,” said Dirk, and she scampered away.

Later, curled beneath the cot that Darlene had set up for her in Yin and Yang’s room, Witch Baby tried to think of ways to make Dirk and Duck see that she understood
them, she understood them better than anyone, even better than Duck’s own mother. Then they might let her stay with them and see their tears, she thought.

The next day Duck and Darlene were walking through the redwood forest. Witch Baby was following them.

“Duck!” Witch Baby called, “Do you know that all trees have spirits? Maybe your dad is a tree now! Maybe your dad is a tree or a wave!”

Duck glanced at Darlene, concerned, then turned to Witch Baby and put his finger on his lips. “Let’s talk about that later, Witch. Go and play with the twins or something,” he said, and kept walking.

“Duck, why did you go away?” Darlene asked, ignoring Witch Baby. “What have you been doing with your life?”

Duck told Darlene about the cottage and his friends. He told her about the slinkster-cool movies they made, the jamming music they played and the dream waves they surfed. The Love-Rice fiestas, Chinese moon dragon celebrations and Jamaican beach parties.

“You sound very happy,” Darlene said. “Do you have a girlfriend to take care of you?”

“My friends and I take care of each other,” Duck said. “We are like a family.”

“That’s good,” said Darlene. “They sound wonderful. The little witch is a little strange, but I really like Dirk.”

Just then Witch Baby jumped down on the path in front of Duck and Darlene. She was covered with leaves and grimacing like an angry tree imp.

“That’s good,” she said. “That you like Dirk. Because Duck likes Dirk a lot too. They love each other more than anyone else in the world. They even sleep in the same bed with their arms around each other!”

“Witch Child!” Duck tried to grab her arm, but he missed and she escaped up into the branches of a young redwood.

Darlene stood absolutely still. The light through the ferns made her blonde hair turn a soft green. She looked at Duck.

“What does she mean?” Darlene asked. And then she began to cry.

She cried and cried. Duck put his arms around her, but no matter what Duck said, Darlene kept crying. She cried the whole way along the redwood path to the car. She cried the whole way back to the house, never saying a word.

“Mom!” Duck said. “Please, Mom. Talk to me! Why are you crying so much? I’m still me. I’m still here.”

Darlene kept crying.

Back at the house Chuck was barbecuing burgers. Dirk and the kids were playing softball.

“What is it, Darlene?” Chuck asked.

Darlene just kept crying. Dirk came and stood next to Duck.

“I’m gay,” Duck said suddenly.

Chuck and all Duck’s brothers and sisters stared. Even Darlene’s sobs quieted. Dirk raised his eyebrows in surprise. Duck’s voice had sounded so strong and clear and sure.

There was a long silence.

“Better take a life insurance policy out on you!” Chuck said, laughing. “The way things are these days.”

“Chuck!” Darlene began to sob again.

“You pretend to be so liberal and free and politically correct and you don’t even try to understand,” Duck said. “We’re leaving.”

“Clutch pigs!” said Witch Baby. “You can’t even love your own son just because he loves Dirk. Dirk and Duck are the most slinkster-cool team.”

Duck ran into the house to pack his things, and Dirk and Witch Baby followed him.

A little while later they all got into Jerry and began to drive away.

“Wait, Duck!” his brothers and sisters called. “Duck, wait, stay! Come back!”

Darlene hid her ex-Zuma-Beach-beauty-queen face in her hands. Chuck was flipping burgers. Dirk looked back as he drove Jerry away but Duck stared straight ahead. Witch Baby hid her head under a blanket.

On the way home from Santa Cruz, Dirk and Duck stopped to walk on the beach. They were wearing their matching hooded mole-man sweatshirts. Witch Baby walked a few feet behind them, hopping into their footprints, but they hardly noticed her. It was sunset and the sand looked pinkish silver.

“There are places somewhere in the world where colored sparks fly out of the sand,” Dirk told Duck, trying to
distract him. “And I’ve heard that right here, if you stare at the sun when it sets, you’ll see a flash of green.”

Duck was staring straight ahead at the pink clouds in the sky. There was a space in the clouds filled with deepening blue and one star.

“I want to let go of everything,” Duck said. “All the pain and fear. I want to let it float away through that space in the clouds. That is what the sky and water are saying to do. Don’t hold on to anything. But I can’t let go of these feelings.”

“Let go of everything,” Witch Baby murmured.

Dirk put his arms around Duck.

“How could she be with him?” Duck asked the sky.

“She must have been lonely,” Dirk said.

“If I ever lost you, no amount of loneliness or anything could drive me into the arms of another!” Duck said. “Especially not into the arms of a greaseburger like Chuck!”

Witch Baby felt like burying herself headfirst in the sand. She knew that if she did, Dirk would not lift her in his arms like a precious plant, as he had done that night in front of the school. She knew that Duck would never share his tears with her now.

Dirk and Duck gazed at the ocean.

“How do you hear the water?” Dirk asked Duck.

Dirk and Duck and Witch Baby didn’t arrive at the cottage for three days because they stopped to camp along the
coast. The whole time Dirk and Duck ignored Witch Baby. She wished she had her drums to play for them so that they might understand what she felt inside.

When they got home, they smelled garlic, basil and oregano as they came in the door. They entered the dining room and Duck practically jumped out of his Vans. There at the table with Weetzie, My Secret Agent Lover Man, Cherokee and Raphael sat Darlene, Granola, Peace, Crystal, Chi, Aura, Tahini and Yin and Yang Drake.

Darlene didn’t have tears in her eyes. She and Weetzie were leaning together over their candle-lit angel hair pasta and laughing.

“Duck!” Darlene leaped up and ran to him. “I need to talk to you.”

Darlene and Duck went out onto the porch. The crickets chirped and there were stars in the sky. The air smelled of flowers, smog and dinners.

“Duck,” Darlene said. “After you told me, I went to everyone—my acupuncturist, my crystal healer and my sand-tray therapist. Then I went for a long walk and thought about you. I realized that it wasn’t you so much as me, Duck. My femininity felt threatened. I don’t know if you can understand that, but that’s how it was. I felt that if my oldest son rejects women, he’s rejecting me. That somehow I made him—you—feel bad about women. Ever since your dad died, I’ve been so vulnerable and confused about everything.”

“This is crazy!” Duck said. “You are such a beautiful
woman. And how I feel about Dirk has nothing to do with your femininity. I love Dirk. It just is that way.”

“I don’t understand,” Darlene said. “But I’ll try. I am worried about your health, though.”

“Everyone has to be careful,” Duck said. “Dirk and I believe there will be a cure very soon. But we are safe that way, now.”

“I love you, Duck,” said Darlene. “And your friend Dirk is darling. Your father would be proud of you.”

“I miss him so much,” said Duck putting his arms around her. “But he’s still guiding us in a way, you know? When I’m surfing, especially, I feel like he’s with me.”

Suddenly there was the click and flash of a camera and Duck turned to see Witch Baby photographing them.

A few days later, after Darlene and the little Drakes had left, Duck found a new photograph pasted on the moon clock. The picture on the number eleven showed Weetzie, My Secret Agent Lover Man, Dirk, Duck, Cherokee, Raphael, Valentine, Ping, Coyote, Brandy-Lynn and Darlene. Their arms were linked and they were all smiling, cheese. It looked as if everyone except Witch Baby were having a picnic on the moon.