The Dry Spell by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.
Chapter 13
August 26, 2009: The summer heat remains, tempered just a bit by a cool northern breeze and a few gray clouds moving elsewhere slowly. Some plants are showing their first signs of fading, strongly offset by late flowering pink tubes sitting on top of the two foot twigs of bush penstemon.
As soon as Daisy felt the breeze, I could see her brown eyes light up excited to go. It’s quite a break from the dry relentless heat that has persisted since June. It’s further enhanced by getting out early, with the shocked neighbors still occupying their window seats in underwear unable to offer a cheery “Morning.” We only have one minor obstacle to consider.
One of the newer houses with extensive solid surrounding walls is occupied by a gray haired gentleman I’ve only seen from a distance of 100 feet or more, his driveway presence visible only from a small spot on the road. Often he happens to retrieve his morning paper precisely when Daisy and I are on this spot, apparently getting a charge from exhibiting himself to a small audience wearing only adult diapers that seem bulbously used.
However, when he turns his back to us and bends down, I never noted any brown on the white material. I guess we catch him early, or there’s a leak. It continues a lucky day and we make it all the way to the double gated, decahedron signed Bosque.
Page 154
Nora’s car is the only one there, parked on private property, bordering the tree farm.
She, too, is in excellent spirits, waiting for me in the empty legal parking area with a big smile and dancing movements.
With the sun behind her, the lady’s long gray hair seems to have a foot long circular glow around it.
“Hey, Ed,” she calls out.
“Hey, Nora. How’d the birding go today?”
“Great, I’ve already got nineteen.” She took a small black book from her pocket and held it to my face with her left hand, pointing at the names recorded with her right. She put the book back in her pocket and said; “I usually don’t take notes but today has been so outstanding that I did.” She put her right hand on her chest, sighed and exhaled extremely noticeably.
I wasn’t able to read any of the names, but could see the volume produced by the black lines and curves. Before I could say anything she turned her head away and gasped; “A red tanager.”
I saw it, not knowing the rarity, but gathered that it was on the high side. She said; “Did you see it?”
It had perched in a cottonwood fifty feet away and I got a good look at the bright red beauty, before its speedy flight took it quickly away. I excitedly said; “Yes, she’s great.”
Page 155
Nora put her right hand to her chest, closed her eyes and sighed. She was beautiful and content, putting the glory of the tanager to shame. We remained there, perfectly still for countless moments, until she said; “Let’s walk.”
We did, at times side to side and at times me behind her lead. She stopped at the former place of the great cottonwood at river’s edge, sighed again, looked at the water, then gazed into my eyes saying; “What happened?”
“I guess he just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he lost something, thought he could retrieve it if he got big enough and found out that it didn’t matter. It was lost forever.”
She cocked her head to the side and squinted her eyes a bit and said; “That’s so sad. Where do you come up with this stuff?”
I didn’t want to put a damper on the great day and said; “I really don’t know. I’m not young and I’ve heard a lot of stories. This wasn’t one of the comedies.”
“Sometimes you weird me out.”
“I wish I could stop that, but on occasion it just seems to me that no matter the specifics, it’s always the same tragic story.”
“For you, too?”
Page 156
“Oh, Nora, this is getting bad. Yes, for me, too and I think for you.”
She didn’t feel at ease with the comment, but didn’t want to address it, directly. She said; “This has been a really great day,” almost pleadingly.
I continued to be stupidly truthful, rather than say something she might want to hear and said; “It has been a great day, but that also makes me think of how many thousands of others there might have been.” She looked at me as if the thought was not at all new to her, but didn’t want to think it today. I tried to think of something cheerful without lying and was at a temporary loss. I finally came up with; “It doesn’t matter, the past is gone and all we have is today and today is great.” I reached to hold her, but apparently had succeeded in ruining her mood, as she moved away, pointed at the Great One’s remains and said; “But, not for him. For some of us it’s too late. Don’t you hate it when a sick dog looks at you as if to say; ‘Please, fix me. Please, fix me,’ and you can’t?”
Still attempting to divert the thought process back to where it was before I ruined it, making the most of the present, I said; “Maybe there’s a way to go back in time.” She just looked at me as if she wondered why she was bothering to talk at all. She also realized with certainty that I had the same dead ended thought process she occasionally entertained, not
Page 157
comfortable that I understood and felt the same thing, saying;
“Why do we have to get old?”
“I don’t understand. It always seemed cruel, but under the circumstances intolerable. A kind hearted God wouldn’t want someone to have to live with this. I didn’t mean that it was literally possible to go back to 1968. But maybe the giant cottonwood left something behind that will always keep him alive to us.”
“Such as?”
“Such as ..... Maybe we can spend a few days looking. I’m sure that everything has a replacement part. You just have to know where to look.”
“Let’s spend the day looking downriver tomorrow.”
“Great.”
We started walking again, soon cutting further inland to the shade of the trees. Daisy wanted to get off the well-traveled path, as usual, but I held her back to stay with Nora and Vossy. After a few tugs she was content to stay on the curved and narrow. The intermittent breeze provided the first portents of the fall to come as we tramped the shade. I would have preferred to divert to a sunny path, but followed Nora’s preference today, as she returned to watching the treetops for more birds, which might not yet have returned to the safety of their nests after a morning food hunt, as they didn’t want the
Page 158
shade yet, either. We turned back after a mile switching to a more eclectic path, which combined sun, shade and degrees of partial shade. When we got back to her car, I said; “Tomorrow?”
She solemnly said; “Tomorrow,” and drove away. As Daisy and I continued our butchered ditch path route, I recalled how well it looked prior to the cutting “work” of the MRGCD. Daisy kept taking dunks in the ditch to keep her hot body cool and as a result of the time consuming diversions, we soon saw a woman catching up to us from behind, presumably also just leaving the Bosque. When she got close I saw that it was a sixty year old woman who lives in the same development we do. I don’t know her name, but we have said “Hi” a few prior days, but today she had some point to make as Daisy enjoyed her float and I was still.
As she passed by I said “Hi” and she gave me an impertinent knowing look and said; “I’m looking for replacement parts,”
smiled and continued on. I had one of my old thoughts; “You can leave Camino De Lucia, but you can never escape.”
As we continued, I saw a guy coming in our direction that I remembered from one afternoon spent standing on line at the Senior Citizen’s Center. I was there to vote for Hillary Clinton in the Democratic primaries and something or other was wrong with the machines or the people who worked there. As we stood still with our arms folded, trying not to commit a Corrales sin by looking annoyed, a conversation broke out among
Page 159
the three people closest to me. All seemed to be relative newcomers to the village and we shared some of our experiences and what we expected when we moved here. This guy was mostly quiet, but attentive and waited for everyone to get talked out, each endeavoring to convey mild disappointment without being too negative. At the lull this guy said; “I came here for the waters.”
No one responded. I was trying to think of what he might have meant. Corrales does border the Rio Grande River and has seasonal inland ditch water. He waited a few moments, then said; “You’re supposed to say that there are no waters in Corrales.” I was still not following and neither were the two women, one who was spending her ninth month in a trailer because the local builder “miscalculated” his finishing date and worse, without any warning. He said; “You’ve seen “Casablanca,”
right?” The rest of us nodded or grunted in some fashion and he continued; “When the Nazi commandant asks Rick why he came to Casablanca, Rick says; ‘I came for the waters,’ to which the commandant says; ‘There are no waters in Casablanca.’ Rick keeps his head down and deadpans; ‘I was misinformed.’”
I thought it was an excellent commentary on things in general and laughed, thinking about whether I would try to top him with a convoluted story. I had previously gotten laughs with some of my observations, but decided not to for a number of
Page 160
reasons. I have told people that I was going to vote for Hillary and a few asked “Why?” My real reason is that I think national healthcare would not even be on the table today if not for her, making us the only economically “advanced” country deficient. But I’ve answered by saying; “I want to apply for Monica Lewinsky’s old job.”
As we crisscross, I make another attempt at humor and point at the full ditch, saying “There are the waters.”
He either has forgotten the frame of reference or he is no longer amused, as he just says, “’Morning,” in a disinterested way and doesn’t break stride. When we get back home I smoke a cigarette in the backyard and am greeted by the buzz saw sounds of summer as another neighbor is compelled to announce his boring presence. After I get Daisy in I just have to hear the live versions of “Boy Cried Wolf” and “Birdland.”
Page 161