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------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- Farrell Foster slipped his wallet into a back pocket and quietly closed and locked the door. Farrell was a cautious man. ------- Early morning was his favorite time. The air was fresh and cool, the birds were singing, and his neighbors were still in bed. Sometimes Farrell went as far as the bay and watched the sun light up the whitecaps. He saw deer and coyotes on his walks but rarely another person. ------- Visitors were down in droves for the Memorial Day weekend. By July, they’d swell the population of East Bay to thirty thousand and drive the residents into summer hibernation. The best part of summer, someone had said, was fall. A local character posted the countdown on his house: “92 days to Labor Day.” ------- The boaters’ cottage was kitty-corner across the road. Farrell always waved as he went by, usually at the back of someone’s head. They’d be leaning into the engine of the big cruiser or the diesel truck. Motors were their entertainment. ------- Hawks! Two of them. That’s what had upset the crows. -------The banker’s house looked nice. He’d come down alone this weekend to tend his garden and enjoy a quiet evening. He’d be back later in the summer with his wife and kids. The hairdresser had arrived the previous night. Farrell had met him once, a small man with soft hands. ------- To be fair, his neighbors were no trouble to him. Occasionally, renters were obnoxious, but East Bay wasn’t a popular destination for noisy people. There was little to do but lie on the beach and read. ------- He heard a chugging behind him as the diesel truck cranked past. Off to get coffee and doughnuts. He waved at a windshield made opaque by the rising sun. ------- There were cars or trucks at nearly every house this morning, the second homes mostly of older couples who’d brought their children for the long weekend. Farrell enjoyed the rare and exhausting visits of his own kids. ------- The aged pair at the corner were natives. They’d put up a handsome swing set for their grandchildren. Theor old dog barked perfunctorily as Farrell strolled past. ------- The plumber lived alone in a sprawling house. He owned two trucks and a monstrous white van. Farrall fancied that he brought in illegal aliens at night and hid them above his garage. ------- Most of Farrell’s neighbors remained faceless, their houses unobjectionable and with only the occasional jarring note like the defecating wooden dog. “No Poops Permitted,” read the sign nestled among the roses. ------- He was almost back to his own street, three quarters of the way around the meandering mile. Such a glorious morning! You can’t beat warm sun and a cool breeze. It had rained. The black raspberry colored rhododendrons were in full bloom, their long leaves wet and glistening. The scent of Scotch broom and wild cherry blossoms filled the air. The bearberry stretched its tiny stalks, and even the poverty grass looked rich. He breathed in the salt-tinged air and thought of his newspaper and coffee. -------There were no cars at the O’Malleys. Their acre of land was a mystery of young oaks and dead pitch pines, tufts of grass and oddly placed bushes. It was less an abandoned field than the work of a demented gardener. In the center, a pair of decrepit Adirondack chairs nestled against a gnarled pine. They were so old and rotted that they seemed an outgrowth of the tree. Farrell had never caught even a glimpse of the owners, but he could almost see them now, sprawled in their weathered lawn chairs, the honeysuckle curling around their limbs. ------- “Hello, Farrell.” ------- “Jesus, Larry! I didn’t see you.” ------- Farrell didn’t know Larry’s last name. He’d been walking near the bay the previous summer when he first saw the big bear of a man with a protruding belly, beefy arms, and grizzled hair and beard watching something in a tree. He’d motioned Farrell closer. ------- “Scarlet tanager,” he mouthed. Farrell saw it, an amazingly red bird with black wings. They’d talked a few times since. This morning, Larry’s hands and knees were covered with dirt. ------- “Doing some work for the O’Mallys?” Farrell asked. ------- “Gardening,” Larry said. ------- “That’s nice,” Farrell said. “Do the O’Mallys go to Florida for the winter? I never see them.” ------- Larry smiled, and Farrell saw himself through the big man’s expressionless eyes. He saw his slight body, the teal green sweater and polished walking stick, the baseball cap that sniveled, “Animals Have Rights.” -------“No, Farrell, the O’Mallys never go anywhere.” ------- Farrell looked at the house. The storm windows were still hung and didn’t appear to have been washed in months. Grass was sprouting in the driveway. He looked again at the scruffy yard and more closely at the rotting Adirondack chairs. ------- “Come,” Larry said, gently taking Farrell’s arm in his big paw. “I’ll take you to meet them.” -------The crows carried on something awful. ------- ------- 7 August 07 ------- |