She stood in spread-legged chunkiness now, her arms folded across her chest, as Sandy picked up the bird again and flung him into the air. She watched as the bird opened his wings, braked, and came down to the sand again. She made no comment until Sandy had tried the same thing unsuccessfully three times in a row. Then she said, “What is it you’re trying to do?”
Sandy didn’t answer.
“What’s she trying to do?” she asked David.
“Train him,” David said briefly.
“To do what?”
“To fly.”
“Doesn’t he know how to fly?”
“Of course he knows how to fly,” Sandy snapped.
“It’s just that he’s forgotten how to fly,” I said.
“A bird cannot forget how to fly,” the girl said. “It’s instinctive.”
“What are you, an ornithologist?” David said.
“No, but I have a canary.”
“This bird has been walking for a long time, you see,” I said.
“That makes no difference.”
“He also happens to be a very dumb bird,” I said.
“He’s very bright,” Sandy said.
“Yes, he’s very bright,” I said, “but he’s forgotten how to fly.”
“Perhaps he prefers walking,” the girl said.
“Who asked you?” Sandy said.
“I’m merely offering an opinion.”
“We don’t need opinions,” Sandy said.
“Yeah, why don’t you get lost?” David said.
“Big shot,” the girl said, and pulled a face.
“No one prefers walking to flying,” I said.
“How’d he learn to walk, anyway?”
“We taught him.”
“Perhaps you’ve crushed his spirit,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps he’s lost all emotional kinship.”
“What?”
“With gulls. Perhaps he doesn’t know he’s a bird anymore.”
“That’s idiotic,” Sandy said.
“Look at him squatting in the sand there,” the girl said. “He probably thinks he’s a crab.”
“He knows exactly what he is,” Sandy said. “He’s a bird.” She turned away from the girl in dismissal. Walking to the gull, she crouched beside him again and said, “You’re a bird.”
“Yes, missie,” David piped.
“And birds fly.”
“Yes, missie.”
“And you are going to fly.”
“Yes, missie.”
“Now fly!” she shouted, and threw him into the air.
He flew.
He soared up into the sky almost exultantly. The nylon line began to play out, uncoiling as the bird went higher and higher and finally wrenching up tight against the piece of driftwood.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now we yank him down,” Sandy said.
“Don’t you dare!” the girl shouted. “You’ll break his neck.”
“We’ll play him in gently,” Sandy said, “like a kite,” and she began easing the bird down, pulling in the line hand over hand, forcing him lower and lower until at last he spread his wings wide and flapped them in the now familiar braking motion, and dropped again to the sand.
“Good bird,” Sandy said, and patted him on the head. “Give him some garbage, somebody.”
I was in charge of the garbage detail. I reached into the oily bag and tossed the bird a moldy piece of orange. He swallowed it whole. It was easy to see how he had once managed to get a fishhook caught in his throat.
“Okay,” Sandy said, “here we go again.” She lifted the bird, and, holding him tightly between both hands, swung him back and then forward again in a wide arc, releasing him suddenly.
The bird opened his wings.
He braked and fluttered down to the sand.
“You goddamn stupid bird,” Sandy said.
“Let’s go for a swim,” David said.
“I don’t know how to swim,” the girl said.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
“Are you still here?” Sandy asked.
“Yes, I’m still here. I want to see what happens.”
“He’ll fly, that’s what’ll happen.”
“Maybe he’ll try it himself if we leave him alone,” David suggested.
“What’s the point of that?” Sandy said. “We want him to know we approve.”
“You’re only going to make him more neurotic than he is.”
“Approval never made anyone neurotic,” the girl said.
“Let’s take a dip anyway,” I said. “It’s hot as hell.”
“I don’t know how to swim,” the girl said again.
“How’d I ever get involved with such quitters?” Sandy said. But she came into the water with us.
The dark-haired girl sat on the shore and watched us swim for a while. When it became apparent we were going to ignore her, she got to her feet and walked down to the water’s edge, testing it with her toes, glancing at us every now and then. At last, she wandered off up the beach, looking back at us only once before she climbed over the dune and disappeared.
“Good riddance,” Sandy said.
When we came out of the water, we were all too tired to try with the bird again. We rolled up the line, put the leash back on his collar, and walked up the beach to Sandy’s house. There was a note waiting for her on the kitchen table.
Sandy darling:
I have gone into the city to meet Mr. Caudell for dinner. There is food in the freezer. I will be catching the early boat back tomorrow morning.
Love,
“I’ve got a great idea,” Sandy said. “Let’s go over to the mainland for chowder and lobster.”
“I don’t think my folks would let me,” David said. “Not so soon after being grounded.”
“Give it a try.”
“Where’s your phone?”
He called his parents, and to his surprise they said it would be all right. We both went home to change our clothes, and then met Sandy on the dock in time to catch the six o’clock ferry over.
The dark-haired girl was sitting on one of the pilings, watching us.
We had lobster and chowder at a place called Lambert’s, and then we walked over to the movie house to find out what was playing. The feature was scheduled to start at 8:10 and break at 10:20, which meant we could see the show and still catch the last ferry back to Greensward at eleven o’clock. We stood on the sidewalk under the marquee and counted our money. A few hulking townie kids were nudging each other over near the glass cases where the movie posters were, ogling Sandy’s miniskirt and bare feet. We ignored them completely. We had just enough money to pay for our admission, but we had already bought round-trip tickets on the ferry, so we decided to go in.
The movie was exceptionally good.
It was about man’s alienation from his society, we decided later on. It was also about the difference between illusion and reality. A sign at the box office warned that the picture was recommended for mature audiences, but nobody questioned our maturity, so we didn’t bring up the matter either. The film was made by a French director and was set in the city of Los Angeles, California. The first shot was of a young man surfing in at Malibu. He comes ashore onto this empty beach where a girl surfer is waiting for him. They begin making out like mad, and then the titles come on, and the guy and the girl get into a red T-bird, and he drops her off someplace and then continues driving out through those brown California hills, the air all shimmering around him, almost as if the hills themselves are a mirage, the photography was really quite excellent.