Blossoms Meet the Vulture Lady (10 page)

He came loping through the trees and into a small clearing. He stopped cold. There, right in front of him, piercing him with her wild eyes, was Mad Mary.

Her cane was raised in the air as if to strike him. Her face, her stance, her eyes, all threatened.

Mud’s lips pulled back in a snarl. There were only three people in Alderson County that Mud had no use for. Two of them were the Brownlee brothers who used him occasionally for target practice with their BB guns. The other was Mad Mary.

He didn’t know why he didn’t like her. She had never actually done anything to him. He just didn’t like her, that was all, and every time he and Pap saw her on their can-collecting rounds, the fur would rise on his back. Pap would say, “That is a friend of mine, Mud. Hush! Behave yourself or get back in the truck.”

This time Pap wasn’t there to make him behave. Pap was a hundred yards back, staggering through the trees with a hand over his heart.

Mud growled and got ready to spring.

The next few seconds were to Junior like the trap springing shut all over again. One moment it had been he and Mary walking along happily, enjoying themselves, chatting about baby vultures, and then Mud had appeared.

He had come charging through the trees in a long noiseless lope, so they hadn’t even heard him. And now he was right in front of them in a sort of crouch that Junior had never seen before.

And that wasn’t all that was wrong. In fact, nothing about Mud looked right. For one thing, he was snarling. Junior had never seen so much of Mud’s teeth. He could even see the gums. And the low growls raised the hair on Junior’s neck. He was glad to be behind Mad Mary.

Mad Mary was still as death. She said, “Is that your dog?” in a flat voice. She was different somehow too.

He didn’t want to claim Mud, but he said, “I think so.”

“Then you’re all right.”

And in a swirl of skirts—it was as if she really were a witch—Mad Mary ducked into a wall of laurels and disappeared.

“Wait!”

Junior tried to follow her into the laurels, but Mud was jumping on him now, licking his face, panting, barking. His hot breath infuriated Junior.

“Stop breathing on me. Go on, get away,” Junior cried, struggling with the leaves.

How had Mary slipped in so easily? He couldn’t get past the first limb. It was like something in a story, not one of Mad Mary’s wonderful stories where people ended up living in caves but one of those awful magic stories where somebody slipped into another century and you couldn’t follow no matter how hard you tried.

“Go on!” he said to Mud as if Mud were holding him back, not the thick laurels.

Then Pap grabbed him. Pap’s old fumbling hands turned him around.

“Pap!” He yelled it not because he was glad to see him but because he wanted Pap to let him go.

Pap pulled Junior against him. Over Junior’s head he yelled, “I found him. He’s all right. Junior’s all right. Here he is, everybody!”

Pap was patting him on the back, hard, as if he were trying to knock something out of Junior’s windpipe. “Oh, is your mother going to be happy. Vicki, he’s fine! Somebody tell Vicki he’s fine!”

Then he bent his radiant face to look more closely at Junior. “What happened? Did you get lost? I figured Mary had you.”

“She did.”

Junior glanced, now without hope, at the laurels. Movement far up the slope caught his eye, and he looked up, shielding his eyes. If the movement had been her, she was gone.

“I figured she’d take good care of you. Everybody else was worried, but I went to school with Mary. She was real gentle.”

“She still is.” This time Junior’s voice wavered.

“Now, don’t you cry.” Pap patted his shoulder. “You’re safe now. You’re going home.”

That was what Junior was afraid of. And when his mom came bursting through the trees, he could barely make her out through his tears.

“Junior, are you still moping about that coyote getting caught?” Pap asked.

Junior said, “No.”

“Fool coyote trapped himself, squeezed into a henhouse, swallowed a couple of hens, and couldn’t squeeze out. And, Junior, the coyote never even got close to where your trap was at. You never even stood a chance of trapping anything but yourself and Mud.”

“I know that. I wish everybody would quit talking about it.”

“Well, they would if you’d quit moping.”

“I’m not moping!”

There was a pause while Pap watched Junior. “Are you moping over Mary?” he asked finally.

“Maybe.” Junior’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye or anything, and I can’t find my way back. And she was going to lend me a book.”

“I’ll take you to see Mary if you’ll stop moping and eat your breakfast,” Pap said.

Junior looked up. He brushed tears from his eyes. “Will you really?”

Pap nodded.

“I don’t see what’s so great about seeing Mad Mary again,” Vern said. Vern was sitting across from them at the table. He had not eaten any of his breakfast either, but no one had noticed. Not one single person was trying to make him stop moping.

“You couldn’t,” Junior explained, “because you weren’t there.”

“No, but I’ve seen her. I see her all the time on the road. The kids at school say she’s a witch.”

“Well, she is not.”

“Let him go if he wants to,” Maggie said.

“And anyway,” Junior said. He was eating now, fast. He swallowed. “Anyway, she promised to lend me two of her books.”

“Lend you books? You’re walking all the way out there to borrow books? Big deal!”

“These are very special books. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Did I hear right?” Vicki Blossom said, entering the kitchen. “You’re going to take him back out to that old woman’s cave?”

“She ain’t old. She’s my age.”

“Pap, you don’t need to walk all that way. Your leg’s still bothering you. If it’s a book he wants, Maggie can take him to the public library.”

“They wouldn’t have these books,” Junior said. “One’s about vultures and one’s about caves. And even if they did have them,” he went on, “they wouldn’t be the same.”

Pap sat down on a boulder and put one hand over his heart. “Me and Vern will wait here. You go the rest of the way by yourself.”

“Don’t you want to see her?”

“I can live without it,” Pap said. “I imagine she can live without seeing me too.”

“I think she’d want to see you.”

“Me and Vern’ll wait.”

“Well, all right, if you really don’t want to.”

Junior turned toward the cave. Overhead, vultures wheeled in the sky, making—it seemed to Junior—welcoming circles.

“Those are the vultures I was telling you about.” He turned his bright face to Pap and Vern. “When they spot something to eat, they’ll start down. You can watch them while I’m gone.”

Junior took a few steps toward the cave. He turned again. The sun was in his eyes, so he shaded them. “Pap?”

“What?”

“What do I do if she’s not there. Wait?”

“Yeah. When we have to start back, I’ll whistle for you.”

Junior walked around the outcropping of limestone and picked his way carefully over the loose stones. He kept looking up, trying to spot the cave.

It was odd. The cave seemed to have disappeared. In his mind it had been the most obvious thing in the world. The porch stuck out like a real porch. The door behind was square like a real door.

He stumbled on a stone. Is that it? Again he shaded his eyes.

High up on the cliff, just beneath the spines of limestone, was a ledge. Was it the ledge? He walked more slowly, dragging his feet. Suddenly he saw a rocking chair on the ledge, and in the rocking chair …

Junior broke into a run. “I’m back!” he called happily.

“You sure took your time,” she answered, getting up from her rocking chair to meet him.

Vern sat on the boulder beside Pap. His shoulder touched Pap’s arm, but Vern had never felt more alone in his life.

For one thing, it had never occurred to Vern that he and Pap wouldn’t go up to the cave, wouldn’t get to see all the wonders Junior had been bragging about all week. It was bad enough not to see where Mad Mary cooked and slept and ate, not to see the boxes of books, the famous rocking chair.

But what was worse was that, as he sat there on the sun-warmed boulder, he realized the cold hard truth: that he alone in the family had no friends. Not one.

He went over the other family members, one by one. Pap had Mud. Maggie had Ralphie and girls at school. The girls and Ralphie even called Maggie up on the phone.

Vern went on glumly: Junior had Ralphie, and now he had Mad Mary. His mom had a lot of new beautician friends. He had nobody.

“Why do people like Maggie and Junior better than they do me?” he asked finally.

Pap looked at him. “I didn’t know they did.”

“Well, they do.”

“I doubt it. Anyway,” Pap said, taking his hand from his heart, “we Blossoms don’t need as many friends as most people. We got ourselves.”

Vern didn’t answer. He could see that Pap wouldn’t understand in a million years.

Vern’s head snapped up. He had just heard Junior’s voice ring out the good news—“I’m back!”—heard the welcome in Mad Mary’s voice as she shouted back, “You sure took your time.”

He scuffed his foot against the earth. Disgustedly he said, “She’s there.”

Junior was on the porch with his back to the view, so that he could see Mary. Mary had been in the middle of reading a book when he’d arrived, an old worn book that looked like it had been read a lot. But as soon as she had seen him, she had put the book down. Now it lay in her lap. One gnarled finger marked her place.

“Been making any more traps?”

“No.”

“That’s good.”

“They caught the coyote in a henhouse. I might make something else, though. I like to make things.” He squinted up at her. “Is there anything you need? I’ll make you something.”

“I got everything I want.”

“Me, too, except a bike. Bikes are hard to make.”

“I imagine.”

“I made a unicycle one time, but I hurt myself real bad when I tried to ride it.”

Mad Mary almost smiled again.

“Did you make things when you were little?”

“No, I used to spend my time playing house. I’d spend hours setting up little rooms out in the yard, under the trees. I’d mark off the walls in the dirt, and set tables with acorns and leaves. I guess I’m still doing the same thing—playing house.”

Junior nodded.

A bobwhite whistled and Junior lifted his head. “I think that was Pap.”

“Your granddad came with you?”

“Yes, he was afraid I couldn’t find my way without help. I couldn’t then, but I could now. He’s waiting at the bottom of the cliff, he and my brother.”

“Well, why didn’t they come up?”

“Pap said you might not want to see them.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” She braced her arms on her rocking chair and started to get up. Then she sat back down. “You know something?”

Junior grinned. “I know some things. What did you have in mind?”

She grinned too. Her teeth were older looking than her face, but still Junior thought she was prettier when she smiled.

“Getting you out of that cage and bringing you back here was the best thing I ever did.”

Junior was flattered. He didn’t get that many compliments. A flush of pleasure ran through his body.

“I was about in a cage myself, and getting you out of yours was the start of me getting out of mine.”

Junior didn’t understand, but he nodded with what he considered his wise look—eyes half closed, mouth serious.

“Wait a minute. I got your books.” She got them from the cave and gave them to Junior. “I’ll walk down with you and say hello to your folks.”

Junior scrambled to his feet. Mad Mary’s two books were clutched against his heart. “They would be honored,” he said.

It was Vern who had made Pap give the whistle. He’d kept saying “He’s been there long enough,” and “Let’s go,” and “Well, how long do we have to wait?” and “What are we waiting for, Christmas?” until finally he had worn Pap down, and Pap had given a whistle for Junior.

Now Vern was standing with his hands jammed in his pockets, staring glumly at his feet. He was thinking that the worst part of the afternoon was yet to come—listening to Junior’s ravings on the long walk home. Mad Mary this—No, Mary this and Mary that. Vern didn’t think he could stand it. At that moment, the absolute low point of the afternoon, he heard Pap say, “Well, Mary, it’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”

He looked up. There she was, so close he could have reached out and touched her. He could even smell her. She had a sort of wild animal odor. It wasn’t, he thought, anything that could be corrected with deodorant; it was a way-of-life sort of smell.

“Mary, this is my other grandson, Vern.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he muttered. He wiped his hand on his pants in case she was expecting to shake, but she wasn’t. He breathed with relief.

“How’s can collecting, Alec?” she asked.

“Well, this here’s the season for it. I hope you aren’t planning to take it up.”

“Food collecting takes about all my time.”

Junior said, “Vern, did you see the vultures?”

“Yes, you showed them to me before.”

“Well, they’re still there.” He pointed them out again. Junior’s eyes were shining. He wanted to take Mary’s hand, but he was not sure she would let him. In Junior’s mind she was like the grandmother he had never known. Pap’s wife, Maida, had died before Junior was even born, and sometimes in stores he ached with longing when he saw grandmothers spoiling their grandchildren. It was strange. Mad Mary was as old as a grandmother, and yet in some ways she was the exact same age he was.

“Well, you all come back when you can stay awhile,” Mary said. She turned abruptly and started up the limestone steps.

“We will,” Junior called after her.

Vern kept watching. The pain of not having a friend had somehow become the determination to get one, maybe one better than Ralphie or Mad Mary, if that was possible. In his mind the year ahead was labeled like the Chinese years they had talked about last year in school. The Year of the Bear. The Year of the Lotus. The Year of the Friend.