Mariana helped out. “The fucking sun.”
“Yup,” said Ted. Ted practiced his new motion a few times, started nodding like, yeah, I got this, then fired wildly, diagonally, straight at Mariana’s face. With the reflexes of the legendary Rangers goalie Eddie Giacomin, Mariana reached up with one hand and snagged it cleanly. Marty was impressed.
“Nice grab, Mariana.”
Ted seconded that. “Yeah, helluva snatch.”
What? No, please no, he hadn’t said that, had he? Not again? He had. He heard it echo on the air, cutting through the birdsong. His head got crowded with thoughts, all vying for his tongue, but for some reason a snippet of Robert Frost came forward farthest and fastest, describing the effect on Adam, still dewy from Creation himself, of newly created Eve’s voice, an “oversound, her tone of meaning without the words,” on the voice of the earth-“Never again would birds’ song be the same. / And to do that to birds was why she came.” Never again would birds’ song be the same. Fuckin’ A right, Bobby F. What was the matter at hand again? Oh yeah…
“No. Not snatch. No. Never snatch.”
“You didn’t like my snatch?” Mariana asked.
“Paging Doctor Freud,” Marty said.
“No, yes, no, I don’t know, it’s a homophone… come on… I’m sure it’s… that was technically a snatch, what you did, I mean…”
“Stop saying ‘snatch.’ Stop talking altogether,” Marty offered, oh so helpfully.
“Okay, I simply mean. Again, Freud schmoid. Just toss it back. The wing’s not quite warmed up. Can you reach me? Let me move up…”
And as Ted jogged toward her, she cocked the ball with minimum turn like a catcher throwing out a runner at second, and rifled a frozen rope from behind her ear to Ted’s ear. Ted could not even flinch, didn’t even move his hands, until the ball had already ricocheted off his dome with a hollow coconut sound. Ted looked at Marty, who was now laughing.
In a delayed reaction, Ted’s eyes fluttered and he then just fell face forward into the grass. Out cold. And to do that to birds was why she came.
41.
“That’s a concussion,” Mariana said as they were dropping her off.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ted said, still mortified.
“Don’t fall asleep this afternoon. Keep an eye on him, Marty.”
Marty seemed distant, worried. “Yeah, don’t fall asleep.”
“I am fine.”
As Mariana leaned back in to kiss Marty goodbye, Ted thought she was coming for him, and he made a move toward her face as she went past him to his dad. Both Marty and Mariana sensed the miss. Mariana took pity on him, so she doubled back to kiss Ted goodbye as well. It made the kumquat-sized lump on his forehead almost worth it.
“You want me to drive?” Marty asked.
“When was the last time you drove?” Ted asked him.
“Kennedy administration.”
Ted threw the car in gear.
When they got back home, Ted chipped a bag of peas out of the freezer with a chisel. The freezer hadn’t been defrosted in so long that excavating them was like an archaeological dig for dinosaur fossils. He was tickled and horrified that the “best if used by” date on the peas was 10/72, a good six years ago. He sat icing his noggin, while rolling a joint expertly with his free hand. Marty was still overly concerned about the injury, it seemed to Ted. “Yankee game is on soon,” he said. “You should call in sick.”
“Shit.”
“You should take the day off after getting smacked like that. I’m beat, too.”
Ted ran to the windows and pulled the shades down in all but one. He opened that window and stuck his body halfway out and up, turning his torso entirely to the sky. “Looks like rain!” he shouted.
“What?” Marty asked. “Sky was blue all day.”
“No,” Ted yelled again, beseeching the heavens closer. “Looks like rain!”
Up on the roof, the panthers had gathered to sunbathe in their Speedos, equipped with little plastic eye guards, silver sun reflectors, and Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil. Tango Sam held his space-age silver reflector up to his face for maximum sun and cancer exposure. They heard Ted’s desperate call. Ivan checked his watch and nodded. Benny turned a nozzle and water spewed out of a long green garden hose.
Ted got hit with way too much water, so Tango Sam put his thumb over the opening to create a finer spray, angling it close to the building. Water started running down the pane. A decent-looking effect. Ted turned back in and grabbed a cassette he had bought for the occasion called Sounds of the Rainforest, and he put it in a little boom box. The sound of thunder filled the room, and also the sound of some tropical birds rarely heard in Brooklyn.
“Look at that. That’s a huge storm. That’s a rainout. If you’re tired, take a pill, you should just lie down and take a nap.”
He crossed back over to Marty and handed him a pill and a sip from a glass of water.
“Thank you.” He helped Marty lie back down on the couch. Marty looked across at the water streaking the window. “‘Blow, winds, crack your cheeks!’ Lear. That storm came outta nowhere.”
“Sure did.”
“I think I hear a parrot.”
“No way.”
“I definitely hear a parrot.”
“I think Mr. Sawyer’s son mighta gotten one.”
“Yeah? A parrot in Brooklyn. That’s idiotic.”
“Well, you know the Sawyers.”
“I bet he’s scared half to death all the time. That bird. All the concrete. And in the winter, he’s probably like, What the fuck is this shit?”
“I bet that’s true.” Ted plumped up a pillow and placed it under his father’s heavy head.
“You ever feel like a parrot in Brooklyn, Teddy?”
“What?”
“Do you ever feel scared and out of place, like a parrot in Brooklyn?”
“That’s an interesting question, Dad.”
“People always say a question is interesting when they don’t wanna answer it.”
“That’s an interesting perception.”
“I do.”
“You do what?”
“Feel like a parrot in Brooklyn. Much of the time. My whole life.”
“That surprises me. You always seemed so… masterful.”
Marty laughed. “Masterful. No, not masterful. I’m sorry for being scared. A father shouldn’t be scared.”
He reached out tenderly and stroked Ted’s cheek. It was the first time Ted could remember his father touching him softly like that. Ted’s body froze, but his insides melted.
“That’s okay, Dad. It’s human.”
“Dads can’t be human.” Marty dropped his hand from Ted’s face, and his eyes fluttered sleepily. “Not to their sons. You’ll see one day. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Get some sleep, Dad. It’s a rainout.”
“I am beat. I’ll shut my eyes.”
“That was a big day.”
“Snatch was funny.”
“Hilarious.” He closed his eyes.
Marty was already drifting off. “Teddy,” he said, “you were getting better. Just in that little time. You were throwing better. I’m sorry I didn’t teach you when you were little. You hear me?”
Ted heard him and had to fight back a sob.
“That’s okay, Dad.”
“Stop forgiving me so easily. If it’s easy, it won’t last.”
“Okay, Dad, I’ll take more time. I don’t forgive you.”
“Yes. Ssssh. Be quiet. Let things sit. Let things sit on your heart. You will learn of them by their weight. I’m sorry, Ted, I’m sorry for a million things.” Ted opened his mouth to forgive, but stopped himself. And Marty was asleep.
Ted felt a million little things sit down upon his heart, yet somehow he felt lighter. Marty was so still. Like a dead man. For a moment, Ted was afraid this was the end. The end right at the beginning. Then Marty inhaled. When Marty began to snore, Ted jumped up with his BA from Columbia and hustled to go throw peanuts. Jose Canucci.