Ravens.
Ravens. Ravens were everywhere, more than I'd ever seen in previous years. Dotting all the trees as a harbinger of things to come. You know they work with wolves? They're an indicator of wolf population, and flocks of them filled the sky.
I remember sitting down on a log one day, soaked with sweat and a chainsaw idling nearby. It was my five minute break. We didn't take lunch breaks. We foraged for berries when we could, but we couldn't afford lunchbreaks. Money was tight. I sat down hungry and tired on a log. Raven swooped down, landed next to me on the log, right next to me. Turned and stared at me. I turned my head to stare back at it. It leaned in, cawed once, then flew back into a tree.
They work together with the wolves. They call the wolves when they spot a dying animal. The wolves tear it apart. When they're done the ravens get whatever's left over.
Reason being if they were to simply find a dead animal in the woods, the ravens would have to wait, and the animal kingdom is impatient. They'd have to wait for the body to bloat up and soften. Until then, they could only get at the eyes and soft tissues. They need the body torn open.
***
I could hear the rumble of a substantial vehicle approaching. Looking back past my shoulder.
I could see it in the distance.
I was going to be dusted. Red clouds of iron dust from the road were rising high in its wake. I stuck out my thumb and hoped for the best as it drew near.
Hope worked, the cloud from below the tires drifted back to earth. The Chevy came to a slow stop ahead of me. Squinting against what haze remained I made my way to the cab. The driver pushed the door open from the inside.
Old timer.
"Where you headed?"
"Hurley."
"Hop in."
I took a seat and closed the door. He seemed harmless enough. Just an old timer. Kept a rifle behind the seats, I noticed it immediately. That made me a little uneasy, but it was a common practice. The cab smelled of tobacco and there was a pipe sitting in the console between the seats.
Don't like being in other people's vehicles. Little bits of the owner's lives strewn about seem overwhelming, try to push you out. Like antibodies. Make you know you don't belong. I stared out the window and watched the trees pass by as the truck started moving again. Listened to the rocks crumbling beneath his tires.
“…Boy, that’s some helluva hitchhiker’s thumb you got on you.”
“Huh?”
“The way it curves back like that.” I looked down at my thumb. Sure enough, I could bend the tip pretty far backward. Never really thought about it.
“I can’t bend my thumb like that myself, so I have to tilt my arm back to signal for a ride.” He took his hand off the wheel and showed me. Sure enough, absolutely no bend to his thumb.
Truck swerved though. He put his hand back on the wheel to correct the course.
“Yeah.”
“Y’know, that’s actually a dominant gene. The hitchhiker’s thumb. I wonder why it’s rare.”
“Huh.”
I was starting to regret taking the ride. Guy seemed like he could go on forever.
“So wherefrom yeh hail?”
“Town of Knight.”
“Town of Knight? But, which village, I mean?”
“Town of Knight.”
“Welll, now if you’re going to be like that, get outta my truck.”
“Alrighty, thanks for the lift.”
He took his eyes off of the road looked at me, stared at me, really took me in for the first time. He said,“Aw hell. I’m not going to let you go here, in the middle of nowhere. Tell you what: I’ll bring you to the nearest village and drop you off there.”
I stared out the window, and could sense him thinking of more things to say.
“Hey… I’ve heard of you!” He finally started, miles down the highway. “You’re the one that the people call ‘ mountain man,’ right? I hear you’re pretty crazy!”
I turned away from the window and stared at him. His head backed up a little.
“Relax now, I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m only telling what I heard, there’s a lot of gossip on everyone around here. Probably it’s all untrue.”
Looked back at the window, thought about the woman. Driver kept talking. I didn’t mind that much, but it was distracting. Hard enough for me to figure out what was going on in my own head, let alone his.
“I once heard that you sold some firewood to that rich guy on horseshoe lake, that while he wasn’t looking you put your name and phone number in the wet cement he’d laid for his garage.”
Gawd.
“No.” I said. “It wasn't like that.”
“Oh.”
“...Just left my phone number and ‘firewood for sale, $50 per cord.’ No name. Figured it would make good advertising, considering all the other moneyed flatlanders that frequent his boat launch.”
“Haw haw! I knew that story sounded true! You really are crazy!”
I thought about the woman in the bird mask. Maybe I was.
We had finally reached a paved stretch of road, village of Iron Belt. Houses made of dried gray wood, paint chipping, black windows caked with red dust. No matter how close you get to windows like that, the only thing you ever see in them is your own reflection.
He’d forgotten his deal to leave me there and we continued on towards Hurley. My uncomfortable silence prompting his dry fingers from the wheel, to switch on the radio, to the one radio station in town. Classic rock. The announcers were blathering about nothing as usual. By the time the trees parted and we reached the outskirts of town my ears were numb and she was still pounding in my head. She was alone out there. She hadn't come out of it yet and probably never would. Alienated from her own kind. Something.
We rolled slowly into Hurley, the sky was varying shades of gray. I thought it might rain. Lining the sidewalks by the stoplights―crazies. Grey skinned. Grey as the sky. Hard to tell if their eyes were registering anything as they switched back and forth on random objects before them. Smoking cigarettes. Mostly tobacco. The corner reeked of it.
The lights switched red as we approached and a song came on the radio. Queen. "We Are The Champions."
"Goddamnit, turn green." Demanded the old man. The lights remained stoically unchanged.
One of the trout eyed druggies on the sidewalk stared at me from one eye―the band continued singing about being champions. I stared back, took in her baggy jeans, just as ragged as mine, but entirely different.
More eyes seemed to zero on me. Sometimes they look back at you when you're looking at them. Impulse.
"We are the champions!"
I switched off the damned radio. The guy in the car stopped beside us was listening to the same station, though. The only station. Blasting it through all his speakers, serenading the neighborhood. We sat listening to the rest of the chorus as cigarette butts snowed upon the sidewalk beneath that dreary sky.
Light turned green. Sound waves were contorted as the car beside us burned rubber and sped away.
"Idiot drivers.” the old man muttered. “So where in town are you heading?"
"Food pantry." I said.
"The food pantry? Goddamnit, all you kids get handouts these days. Whole damned country is falling apart."
His face fell, the excitement went out of his eyes, he seemed annoyed at me, it was almost as if admitting my destination had destroyed all of the legend that had built around me in town. I hid my laugh behind a cough, He pressed his lips tightly together, like trying to hold back all the anger in the world. Finally he sighed and said, "Alright, we'll head to the food pantry. I'm on my way past there anyway."
Ten minutes of silence later he pulled over on the side of the building and let me out.
"G’luck, Mountain Man," he called as he shut the door and pulled away.
I walked inside. Another man stood behind the counter. The guy stood in front of two old women sitting behind a table. A shelf full of muffins and pastries was behind them. Cold sweat poured down my forehead. I felt incredibly out of place.
"Your full name?" asked one of the women.
"Jed Stone,"
"Yearly income?"
"Five thousand big ones." He said, proud smirk on his face.
"I can help you over here, sir." The unoccupied woman waved me up.
I came forward, stood next to Jed. My clerks eyes bulged out of her head as she observed me up close. I shook some of the dust off and it seemed to startle her into asking her questions.
"Your name?"
"Smithy... Smithy Smith.. Parents had a strange sense of humor."
"Umm hmm, could you spell that for me please?"
I spelled it out. Good poker face on her, she didn't act suspicious in the least.
"Number of residents in your household?"
"Um," I tried to think back. How many wolves were there? And while I was on that line of thought, how much do wolves eat, relative to humans?
"About s…even." I said.
She looked at me disapprovingly, but shrugged it off and kept recording.
"Your address?"
"Um…" this was the kicker. I didn't know my address. The trailer was just a building in the woods. Sometimes one of the volunteer women would let me in. Not this time.
"I don't think I have one." I said, scratching the back of my neck.
"Then I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to leave."
"I live in a building," I said hurriedly, uncertain of myself. "I just don't know the address."
"Do you have any ID?"
"…No."
"Then I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to leave."
Guess the hungry can't have food unless they carry their paperwork around with them in their rags.
"He's with me," Jed said. I turned towards him. "Lives with me in my household, we're roommates. I told him to wait in the car, but he came in anyway, because he's nuts, and I apologize." He laughed and shrugged.
The nicer old woman who'd helped him accepted his explanation. She waved us over and led us into a cramped room. shelves were coated with a thick layer of dust and chipping blue paint. I've seen that color only once before, in a faded photograph of my childhood--it sprang back into mind. Photographic memories. I was four years old, looking at the camera, smiling, sitting naked in the lawn with my brother. The whole photo was tinted green, made the window frames on our house in the background this same strange shade of blue. The color of these shelves. If I could see through those dark windows, I bet I'd see myself now, standing here, fingering shelves of expired food. Corn flakes from the year 2006. Wonder what my naked young self would think of that.
Canned fish was kept on the shelf labeled A, fruits and canned fruits on B, canned soups on C, cereals and dried milk on D, sacks of powdered potatoes and canned vegetables on E, and so on and so on…
She talked us through the procedure. "Between the two of you boys you can only have two items for the month from each shelf, when you're finished you can take one loaf of bread or a pastry from the table out front." She gave us each paperbags, told us to doublebag our loot, and then she stepped out of the way, stopping in the doorway. Didn't trust us enough to leave the room. I stuck my thumb in one of the oranges on the shelf. Went right in like falling through wet paper. "I wouldn't take those," she chimed sagely. "You might get sick. Though once in a great while you might get lucky and find a good one."
I didn't have any use for iffy fruits. Knew where apples were if I wanted them.
Jed was looking at the dates on boxes of cereal, searching for the freshest ones. I wondered why he had helped me out, but was quick to adapt to the situation.
"What's your brand?" he asked, "Life or Cheerios?"
"Neither." I said.
"Well. Cheerios it is, then." He said, he grabbed two boxes, put them in his bag. I continued searching for something useful. There was canned fish. Do wolves eat fish? Probably, when they can get it. I grabbed two cans and put them in my bag. Jed watched me doing so and nodded. It was a fair trade, my box of cereal for his can of fish.
In the end I had two cans of fish, one can of fruit, a bag of powdered potato and some sweet corn. Jed had already left the room by the time I had finally decided on a can of corn instead of peas. The old lady stared down at the cuffs of my pants as I wandered by.
"Oh dear," she muttered.
"You,"she called after me, "Come with me, come into the back room. We'll get you into some nice clothes."
She quickly stepped in front of me, gave me no choice. Felt like I was running low on time. There was already no guarantee that I'd find the woman again. I didn't want to be late.
The woman herded me into a dark room filled with an assortment of old clothes hanging on a rack. The place smelled of mothballs.
"Listen," I started, "I really don't―"
"What's your waist size?" she asked, fast to cut me off. Guess she'd dealt with people like me before. She started rustling through the shelves of material. Didn't face me, ignored my shuffling, guess she didn’t want to give me the chance to leave. She was good at it. Damn.
"I don’t know. I use a belt," I caved. "This isn't nec―"
"Well, we'll just have to find out. Exhale." She took a measuring tape out of the pocket of her apron, wrapped it around my waist. I exhaled as much as I could.
"Thirty inches! Well I don't think we carry any men's pants in that size!"
She kept me there for a long time, for immeasurable time, searching through every pair of pants on the hangers. I felt like squirming. Hours of small talk, asking about my background and things. I tried not to say too much, but she was persistent if anything. Cutting me off with household hints and tangents every time I tried to weasel my way out.
Finally, she settled on a pair of gray sweats with blue stripes down the outside. Placed them in my arms and led me out, I grabbed a loaf of bread and made my way out of the building.
Jed was waiting outside smoking.
"Hey pal, what held you up?"
"The woman wanted to give me pants." I showed him the old sweats. They felt alien. Maybe she could use them? Nah. There was a really odd smell to them. Didn’t want her to even have them now that I thought about it, wonder if her antibodies were still built up for human contact. I stuffed them into the trash. Pushed them deep.
Jed watched approvingly, he'd eyed the sweats himself with his lip curled up. I wiped my hands on my jeans. "Hey listen, Jed said, throwing his ciggy butt into the gutter. "I know about you. You make firewood, right?” I nodded. He grinned widely, a poor imitation of the used car salesman's shit eating grin. Kid still had some integrity, couldn’t quite pull it off.
“So here's the deal:” he proceeds to say, “I'll pay you a hundred bucks per cord, cherry, split small enough to fit into a wood stove. That's more than a lot of folks would pay. And I know where there's some cherry―I'll even let you use my truck. Sounds like a good deal, don't it?"
Sounded like a great deal actually. Weeks ago I'd probably have jumped at it. Not now though. Had too much on my mind.
"Sorry, saw's busted.” I shrugged.
"Oh." He looked taken aback. "Well cool man. Eyy I just thought I'd offer it to you, s'all. No sweat off'a my back."
He stepped back into his truck. Waved over his shoulder. I watched in silence as he drove off and waited for him to be out of view before turning the corner of the pantry with my bagged goods, into the alley where she stood in wait. I wanted to see her face again, but I knew it didn't exist anymore.
"They say we're crazy." I told her.
She squawked in response. The woman in the raven mask.
I still remembered her voice. I still remembered her laugh.
--
tired. pieced together from old stuff I wrote. used to write a lot. had a friend who wrote with me. we were close. tore some of my writing out of an abandoned collaborative novel and some of my other old scrap writing. rewrote around the picture. may be typos.
Developer
