From the short story collection: Manor Bayou
by Patrick Owens
Note:
Lt. Smith led a unit of Tunnel Rats, assorted misfit infantrymen who attacked the underground portions of the Ho Chi Men trail in the Vietnam War. One responsibilities was to call in air strikes.
My wife spotted the blood dripping onto the kitchen floor. She dragged me to the sink and dabbed the cut with a Q-Tip. “This is deep,” she said and switched to a cotton puff. “How’d you get it?”
I had been working on a plausible explanation all the way up from the bayou but came up with nothing.
She bowed her head and put the bloody cotton puff on the counter. “Please darling, the truth.” My lovely wife began to cry.
Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. “I was … I was cutting brush, and this dragon charged me, and I swung at it with Maximo and one of the dragon’s hangnails near sliced off my finger!”
She got all pinch-faced like she does when I try to explain something I know is going to sound weird. But I was on a roll.
“I yelled at the dragon. ‘Jeez, why don’t you get a manicure?’ He got all pouty and hid his claws in his armpits. You see, dragons are ashamed of their cuticles, which are a mess, what with all that rending of flesh and bone. I trimmed them with Maximo, and smeared his claws with some old varnish I found in the tool shed. Shined them up real good. He loved it, cooed and danced around, waved his claws in the air to dry them.”
She stopped first aid and went to the bathroom to repair her mascara.
I followed and kept running my mouth. “I killed him! That’s right; I did it. One powerful swipe with Maximo and his head went splash way out in the bayou. I could have hacked off a claw, but the county agriculture agent stopped paying a bounty on dragons. There’s still a bounty on crows, twenty-five cents for each right wing, but I promised the Dominant Crow to stop crippling his flock.”
“That’s nice, darling,” my wife said. “I’m late. Please clean up this mess. Your pills are in the daily dispenser, Tuesday. Remember, it’s clinic day at the VA.”
“Yes, dear.”
She was out the door.
*****
I waited at the curb for my cab. A large flock of crows circled overhead, then landed in the park across the street. Crows aren’t so smart, thought they had me fooled, advancing towards me in a pincer movement pretending they were poking for worms in the sod. The Dominant Crow himself was on point.
“Oh, oh! Oh, oh!” the big guy cawed to his troops, sounding like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man.
“Oh, oh. Oh, oh! Oh, oh!” the whole flock acknowledged. They hopped and fluttered across the pavement, eyeing me like I was a delicious meal. They couldn’t have found the headless dragon already, could they?
“That’s okay fellas. You don’t need to give me a lift. I called a cab.”
I could have saved my breath. A bunch flew at my face; others pecked at my ankles and Bam! I was flat on back, as usual. Then as many as could crowd in started pecking at my right side. “Okay, okay. I’ll roll over. But watch out for my spine. Your claws are sharp!”
A whole bunch latched onto me … God, that hurts. The sound of a thousand wings flapping meant prepare for take-off … and here we go, into the wild blue yonder, climbing high into the sun. It is kind of pretty up here, faster than a cab too.
His Dominance had the lead position as the VA hospital came into view. “Mr. Crow … sir,” I shouted at his tail feathers. “Would you set me down at the clinic entrance? Then maybe the shrink will believe … oh, right, I’ve made you late for your lunch date … with the dragon?” Crap. “No, no, it’s cool. I can walk from the parking lot.”
*****
The psychiatrist always goes through my sessions with a pained look on his face. I mean, here I was, pouring my guts out about the terrible things happening to me and he just sits there with his prissy mouth puckered up like he was sucking lemons … until my thirty minutes were up, and he switches to a smirk.
“How did your wife like the dragon story, Lieutenant?”
“She didn’t believe me either. More worried about blood stains on the counter top.”
“Is Maximo your broadsword?” he asked.
“No, it’s a machete, actually. You see, double edge swords are too heavy to wield in brush, but they’re great on battlefields, especially when you’re on horseback where you can swing it on both sides of your sturdy steed, and cut off the heads —
“Do you enjoy killing?”
What a dip-shit question. “Well, if you’re on a battlefield … what’s that?”
“Your cabdriver’s horn, it’s three-thirty,” the shrink said.
“I didn’t come in a cab; the crows dropped me.”
He looked amused. “Yes, of course.”
At least the shrink smiles when things get weird. Not like my beautiful wife whose lips get real thin.
He got up and headed for the door. “I’ll get the orderly to help you to the gate.”
“Please don’t!” I said. “He’s pissed because I bled on his clean floor. I think he’s off his meds.”
“How about you?”
“I took Tuesday’s lot,” I said. “It is Tuesday, right?”
“Yes. Are you sleeping?”
“I’m not sure. I thought maybe I was hallucinating when crows gripped my spine. But my back really hurts, and I can feel blood oozing —
“The horn again,” the psychiatrist said. “Do you have your exit pass?”
“That’s not a car horn. It’s the Dominant Crow. I stopped mutilating his flock like he demanded. How was I supposed to know the dragon was his best friend?”
“Here, let me open the door for you.”
“Please, let me stay here. If the crow found out I decapitated his best buddy, it’ll be bombs away for me on this flight home.”
The doctor pushed me gently toward the door. “Your cab — Oh, my goodness! The back of your shirt is ripped and soaked with blood!”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”
“Sit down for a moment,” the shrink said, and went to his desk. He got an outside line, glanced at my file and dialed a number. “Mrs. Smith —
The bastard’s calling my wife. I only got snatches of what he said, like “re-admit,” which is Chinese for bed restraints and Haldol to the max. And I think I heard “self-mutilation” and “garden tool.”
What a crock! I’m staying on my meds. Why don’t they believe the terrible things that are happening to me?
I had no trouble hearing what he said next.
“You can’t take care of him at home, Mrs. Smith!”
The shrink listened some more, muttered, “Uh, huh,” a couple of times and heaved a big sigh. “All right. If you take your vacation time and watch him night and day. He can’t be left alone.”
The shrink hung up, gripped my elbow and frog-marched me into the hallway. “Your wife will pick you up at the gate,” he said and slammed his office door.
When the echo stopped reverberating in the hallway, I heard a whispering sound that made my innards go mushy. It grew in volume as thousands of vassal crows joined His Dominance and cawed in angry unison as they flew against the heavy glass entrance door. “OH, oh! OH, oh! OH, oh!”
Please hurry, darling.
— End —
01 April 20017
W.C. 1245