The Midnight Circus, стр. 25

Hewas so busy thinking about the card, he didn’t notice the car parked bythe roadside until he was upon it. And it took him a minute before herealized there were three people—two men and a woman—standing on theother side of the car, staring at the far trees with binoculars.

Donnalfelt hot then cold with anger. They were looking at his birds,his owls. He could see that both of the Great Grays weresitting in the eastern field, one on a dead tree down in the swampyarea of the marsh and one in its favorite perch on a swamp maple. Hecontrolled his anger and cleared his throat. Only the woman turned.

“Doyou want a look?” she asked with a kind of quavering eagerness in hervoice, starting to take the field glasses from around her neck.

Unableto answer, his anger still too strong, Donnal shook his head and,reaching into his pocket, took his own field glasses out. The red scarfcame with it and fell to the ground. His cheeks flushed as red as thescarf as he bent to retrieve it. He knew there was no way the womancould guess what he used the scarf for, but still he felt she knew. Hecrumpled it tightly into a little ball and stuffed it back inhis pocket. It was useless now, desecrated. He would have to use someof his disability check to buy another. He might have to miss a lessonbecause of it; because of her. Hatred for the woman flared upand it was all he could do to breathe deeply enough to force thefeeling down, to calm himself. But his hands were shaking too much toraise the glasses to his eyes. When at last he could, the owls hadflown, the people had gotten back into the car and driven away. Sincethe scarf was useless to him, he didn’t even check for pellets, but gotback on his bike and rode home.

LittleJason was playing outside when he got there and followed Donnal up tohis room. He thought about warning the boy away again, but when hereached into his pocket and pulled out the scarf, having for the momentforgotten that the scarf’s magic was lost to him, he was overcome withthe red heat. He could feel great gray wings growing from hisshoulders, bursting through his parka, sprouting quill, feather, vane.His mouth tasted blood. He heard the snick-snack of littleneck bones being broken. Such a satisfying sound. When the heat abated,and his eyes cleared, he saw that the boy lay on the floor, the redscarf around his neck, pulled tight.

Fora moment Donnal didn’t understand. Why was Jason lying there; why wasthe scarf set into his neck in just that way? Then, when it came to himthat his own strong hands had done it, he felt a strange satisfactionand he breathedas slowly as when he said his mantras. He laid the child out carefullyon his bed and walked out of the room, closing the door behind.

Hecashed the check at the local bank, then pedaled into Northampton. TheMercantile had several silk scarves, but only one red one. It was adark red, like old blood. He bought it and folded it carefully into alittle packet, then tucked it reverently into his pocket.

Whenhe rode past the barn where he lived, he saw that there were severalpolice cars parked in the driveway and so he didn’t stop. Bending overthe handlebars, he pushed with all his might, as if he could feel thestares of townsfolk.

Thecenter was filled with cars, and two high school seniors, down fromSmith Academy to buy candy, watched as he flew past. The wind at hisback urged him on as he pedaled past the Main Street houses, around themeandering turns, past the treatment plant and the old barns markedwith the passage of high school graffiti.

Hewas not surprised to see two vans by the roadside, one without-of-state plates; he knew why they were there. Leaning his bikeagainst one of the vans, he headed toward the swamp, his feet makingcrisp tracks on the crusty snow.

Therewere about fifteen people standing in a semicircle around the deadtree. The largest of the Great Grays sat in the crotch of the tree,staring at the circle of watchers with itsyellow eyes. Slowly its head turned from left to right, eyes blinked,then another quarter turn.

Thepeople were silent, though every once in a while one would move forwardand kneel before the great bird, then as silently move back to place.

Donnalwas exultant. These were not birders with field glasses and cameras.These were worshipers. Just as he was. He reached into his pocket anddrew out the kerchief. Then slowly, not even feeling the cold, hetook off his boots and socks, his jacket and trousers, his underpantsand shirt. No one noticed him but the owl, whose yellow eyes onlyblinked but showed no fear.

Hespoke his mantra silently and stepped closer, the scarf between hishands, moving through the circle to the foot of the tree. There heknelt, spreading the cloth to catch the pellet when it fell and baringhis neck to the Great Gray’s slashing beak.