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The False Portrait
cc&d, v281
(the March 2018 issue)

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The False Portrait

Bird Island, Chapter 14: Devotion

Patrick Fealey

    The tv is lighting and talking. Jess is looking at papers. Wawp faces the wall with eyes open, very still. The bottle is by Wawp’s feet and Wawp drinks the wine from a glass. Jess puts down the papers.
    “I’m so ugly,” Jess says.
    “You’re not ugly,” Wawp says. “You’re beautiful.”
    “I’m ugly.”
    “Shut up.”
    “No, you shut up.”
    “You’re talking nonsense. Isn’t she, Bird? You are a fucking model with your own look. Don’t compare yourself to some other model.”
    “I’m not talking to you,” Jess says. “Or him.”
    “No shit!” Wawp says.
    “You’re not talking to me either.”
    “You’re just sitting there,” Wawp says.
    “So are you.”
    “Why can’t we just talk?” Wawp says.
    “Because you’re in a bad mood.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “You’ve been, I don’t know, awful all night,” Jess says.
    “No I’m not. I’m okay. I want to be in a good mood.”
    “Ha!”
    “Really,” Wawp says.
    “So what do you want to talk about?” Jess says.
    “I don’t know. Anything.”
    “Anything?”
    “Is this wall pink or peach?” Wawp says.
    “I need to go shopping,” Jess says.
    “New ones in the mailbox every day, models piled in every corner of the house. I hate those fucking magazines and the stupid souls who lend them their flesh.”
    “60 Minutes is on,” Jess says.
    “Morley Safer watches out for the little man through the windshield of his Ferrari.”
    “Everything pisses you off,” Jess says. “The tv does. Work does. The world does.”
    “Do you think I have a problem?”
    “No.”
    “Really?”
    “You’re a little neurotic,” she says.
    “Me?”
    “Yes. You.”
    “I don’t think so,” Wawp says.
    “Are you kidding me?”
    “I’m normal. I just have reactions.”
    “Reactions to what?”
    “The world around me.”
    “You shouldn’t take it so seriously.”
    “I don’t. It’s in me.”
    “You’re neurotic,” Jess says.
    “I think I’m right.”
    Jess laughs.
    “You really think I’m neurotic? You don’t think the world is a cluster-fucked circus?”
    “I think the world is crazy and you’re crazy.”
    “Is that why you don’t talk to me?” Wawp says.
    “I am talking to you.”
    “You are? When?”
    “Right now.”
    “So you really think I’m crazy?” Wawp says.
    “No. I wouldn’t have stayed with you this long if you were.”
    “Unless you were too,” Wawp says. “Bird thinks I’m normal. I don’t even have to talk and he understands. Our conversations don’t turn into arguments. We talk about the weather and food. Life and its craziness, opinions about looks and neurosis, Bird could give a shit. It goes nowhere. Bird!”
    Bird flies across the room and lands on Wawp’s hand. “Bird understands existence and has not yet committed suicide. How are you, buddy? Give me a kiss.” Wawp strokes Bird’s head with his lip. Wawp breathes warm in Bird’s eyes and then holds Bird high and looks at Bird. Wawp lowers Bird to the wine glass and Bird drinks. Bird drinks and pauses. Wawp watches through the glass. Bird drinks until Wawp takes the glass away and says, “Bird, you have to pilot yourself.”

    “You know, after almost five years of sharing everything, five years of ecstasy, it’s a bad sign if it comes down to this.”
    “It was your idea to talk,” Jess says.
    “Alright, that’s it. I’m going over to Nat’s. C’mon Bird. We’re on a mission for a conversation worth having, apparently unavailable among all these model citizens.”
    “You are crazy.”
    “How about a new topic?”
    “You’re too generous with your time and money.”
    “Here we go again. Now you’re going after my soul.”
    “I work for that money too,” she says.
    “I know you do and I’m glad.”
    “You give away your money. You take off your shirt and give it away.”
    “When someone is cold.”
    “You’re schizophrenic.”
    “We’ll be at Nat’s. Don’t worry. I won’t buy any paintings.”

    The street is quiet. The cars are still. Bird rests on Wawp in the glow of the gas lamps, on Wawp’s shoulder into the night. Wawp shakes Wawp’s head, “long -legged women . . .”
    Light shines through the windows onto the street. Wawp takes the door and pushes it open. Wawp and Bird walk into the light.
    “Hi Tom.” a human says. It is sitting at a long table with a cup. A female.
    “Oh. Hi, Rachel.”
    “He’s upstairs. Working. Nat didn’t tell me you had a crow?”
    “This is Bird.”
    “Nice to meet you, Bird.”
    “Bird, this is Rachel, Nat’s uh . . . Boston chick. He and I feel as if we were just chased out of the house by a female, so forgive him if he is hesitant.”
    “Of course.”
    “You come down today?” Wawp says.
    “I got in around midnight,” it says. “Nat doesn’t know I’m here yet.”
    “Does he know you’re coming?”
    “Oh, yeah,” it laughs. “So how did Bird get dragged into your domestic situation?”
    “Collateral. He and I were enjoying some wine when all of a sudden – one of those arguments out of nowhere.”
    “How long have you been together?”
    “About five years.”
    “Yeah, that can do it.”
    “And, we’re moving and she’s nervous.”
    “Where you going?”
    “We’re driving out to California.”
    “Are you bringing Bird?” it says.
    “I don’t know. I wanted to talk to Nat about it.”
    “Does he belong to this place or to you?”
    “Both.”
    “It won’t be easy to take him,” it says.
    “No. Nor to leave him. If I knew he’d be alright without me, I’d give him up, leave him. I’m not going to bring him just because I want him. This is his hometown He knows his way around the island. It’s just that he has stuck to me his whole life.”
    “How old is he?”
    “About nine.”
    “He’s pretty old.”
    “I guess he’s had help. In captivity, they live 25 years or more.”
    “You raised him?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You ever hear the story of The Rainbow Crow?” it says.
    “The Rainbow Crow? No.”
    “It’s an Indian myth about how the crow got to be black,” it says. “It’s cute.”
    “Tell me.”
    “Well, before humans walked the earth, the animals were warm and happy. The crow was all the colors of the rainbow. But then it started to snow and snow. It got so the animals were getting burried in snow and freezing. The crow bravely volunteered to fly to the Wind Spirit to ask for a reprieve. No luck. Then the Snow Spirit. No luck. She then flew for three days to reach the Great Sky Spirit. The Great Sky Spirit could not stop the snow, but gave the rainbow crow fire to bring back to earth. Flying back to earth, soot from the fire blackened Rainbow Crow’s tail feathers. Next day, the smoke made her voice go hoarse and crackly. By the third day, Rainbow Crow was completely back . . .
    “When she reached earth, all her friends were covered in snow. She flew low next to the snow with the fire and melted it away. Then she flew away and cried. The great Sky Spirit came down and told Rainbow Crow, now just Crow, that the humans would soon come and take the fire and rule all animals. But because of Crow’s bravery and the sacrifice she made to save her friends, she would be free from humans. Humans would not hunt her because her meat would taste like smoke and fire. The humans would not want to capture her because her voice was no longer beautiful. The Great Sky Spirit told her that her black feathers would reflect all the colors of the earth. Crow looked, and saw thousands of rainbows reflected in her feathers. She was happy again.”
    “His feathers do reflect every color, like an oil slick,” Wawp says. Even at a glance, he’s more purple than black, his wings are green.
    “Are you saying you think I should leave him here, free?”
    “The way he’s watching and listening to us, I think it’s too late for that.”
    “We stay or he comes with us.”
    “See what Nat says.”

    A car outside the house . . . Wawp and the human look up . . . Silence . . . Then a car door shutting. The door opens and a human walks into the room, “Oh, Hi Tommy.” It is a second female. The first female looks at the female. “You’re here?”
    “Hi Sharon,” Wawp says.
    “Hi Sharon,” the female says.
    “Hi Rachel,” Sharon says.
    Sharon’s long black hair is streaked white. She looks at Bird with green eyes. “Bird. What are you doing up so late? Nat didn’t tell me you were coming. When did you get here?” the woman asks.
    “I got in from Boston at midnight,” the female says.
    “Where’s Nat?”
    “Haven’t seen him, but his car is here, so all bets are on the attic studio.”
    “He’s up there. I have a sandwich here for him.”
    “I’ll give it to him.”
    “I can wait,” the first female says.
    “What kind of sandwich is it?”
    “Scallion and cheddar. He’ll come down soon. He gets hungry and he knows I’m coming. I asked him today if you were coming.”
    “He didn’t tell you?” the female says.
    “When he got home from here this morning . . . All he said was, ‘Do we have any coffee?’” the first female says. The second female smiles.
    The first female says, “I got him a new can and he got the pot going on the floor. I asked him twice. ‘Is Rachel coming?’ He stood there, picking clay out of his fingernails. Then he lit a Lucky Strike.”
    “How is he?”
    “Nat expects everyone to understand and accept. He looks pale and tired.”
    “He didn’t know I was coming until later.”
    “Oh.”
    “What time is it?”
    “I don’t even know.”
    “Maybe one-thirty,” Wawp says.
    “He’s been really excited about these new sculptures,” the first female says.
    “He showed me one last week that looked like a giant knife, something from the Yucatan,” the female says. “It was frightening and beautiful.”
    “That’s one of my favorites,” the first female says. “Looks like someone just dug it out of a tomb and polished it. Looks like his dry spell is ending. Just the other day he was saying he better sell something soon, in that roundabout way of his. ‘The Alfa’s coming up for an exhaust system. I can hear a buyer coming every time I downshift.’”
    “He’s funny,” the second female says.
    “He says the universe balances things out. But it works the other way too. Right after he sold a seascape for $4,500, the dentist told him he needed a root canal. The IRS took 25 percent, the gallery took 40 percent, and the dentist got the rest. So you know what Nat says? He says, ‘Jesus Christ, I only made $2.50 an hour painting that thing. I’d be better off having all my teeth pulled.’”
    Laughter. Bird moves on Wawp’s shoulder.
    “Maybe he should get insurance,” says the second female.
    “I said that and he said, ‘Then I won’t sell any paintings.” The first female looks across the room past the tables and into a dark room. There is a doorway with lighted stairs. “I thought I heard . . .”
    Wawp lowers Bird to the table. Bird jumps from his finger. Bird walks for the female.
    Wawp says, “Nat works up there to get away from the members of this association. He told me the kilns are so full of coffee cups and dishware he almost can’t cure his sculptures.”
    “He’ll get discovered,” the second female says.
    “You mean rediscovered,” the first female says. “How old are you?”
    “Thirty.”
    “Christ. He was showing at Meisel when you were three.”
    “Where?”
    “Meisel. New York.” The first female smiles, her voice fresh: “Nat went down to New York a few weeks ago.”
    “He told me. Hey Bird. How are you?” Bird climbs onto the second female’s finger and it raises Bird to its blue eyes.
    “Did he tell you what happened?” the first female says.
    “They wouldn’t look at his slides.”
    The second female lowers Bird and holds Bird against it, warm, stroking Bird’s head.
    “I’ve never seen him so calm with a stranger,” Wawp says.
    “One gallery,” the first female says, “The guy opened a drawer and showed Nat all the slides they had that they were not looking at and then invited Nat to leave his if he wanted.”
    “He didn’t tell me that.”
    “He hasn’t told you a lot.”
    “What did he say?” the second female says.
    “He walked out.”
    “It doesn’t matter. Nat doesn’t care.”
    “Yes. He does.”

    Bird stands on the table in the neighborhood. Bird walks across the table toward the street. Bird walks to the edge of the roof. The street is below. There is a yellow water tree and a car turned red with rust. The street is stained black with oil. It is morning light. Bird does not hear birds. Bird watches for people or a cat.
    “Looks like he might be fooled,” the first female says.
    “Bird’s had a few,” Wawp says.
    “That wall hanging makes me dizzy when I’m sober,” the second female says.
    “Nat had a buyer for that and chose to go without heat,” the first female says. “He refuses to sell it.”



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