The Healer (3 page)

Abe Zook did not require an answer. He took a milking stool and pail from the wooden pegs studding the wall and said over his shoulder, "Go to the loft and for the cows throw down some hay."

He pointed with the stool and Billy climbed the steep, broad, whitewashed stairs until he emerged in the loft. To him, it seemed a huge place. Pigeons exploded from under the eaves and whirled around with a thunder of wings, magnified by the high-peaked roof. The boy started a little and then waded through the hay to the chute, wondering at how soft the timothy was under his feet. He peered down the chute and called, "I'm starting to throw it down now. You tell me when to stop."

A pitchfork was standing in the corner, but he did not know its use and flung armfuls of hay down the chute until he heard Abe Zook's voice telling him, "Enough now." Before returning, he stopped to look around. The pigeons had gone back to their nests and it was very quiet in the loft. Below him he could hear the cows and the horse beginning to munch on the hay, the sound of Abe Zook moving about, and the occasional clang of a milk pail. He was tired from the long journey, the strain of being jerked out of his accustomed life, and the oxygen-rich country air was making him a little dizzy. His head began to swim and he sat down abruptly on the soft hay.

Suddenly he felt as though he had left his body and was standing looking down at himself. He saw a scrawny, freckled-faced boy with a sullen, stupid face, to whom he took an instant dislike. At the same time, he was still himself and knew that although this was how he appeared to other people, his mind was full of strange thoughts which no outsider could understand. He wondered if Abe Zook was right, and there were really two of him, and only one was real and that one was not the boy chained to his body. Then, with a shudder, the strange sensation passed and he was again Billy, who had been rejected by his parents and sent to live with a crazy old man because no one else wanted him.

Shaken, he went down the steps and found Abe Zook, with his forehead braced against the flank of a cow, sending alternate streams of milk into the tilted pail. Billy watched with wonder, amazed that the cow would permit such a liberty. Then he asked, "Is that hard to do?"

"You try," said Zook, leaning back. Billy took the soft, rubbery teats in his hands and after a few failures managed to produce a squirt of milk. The feel and smell of the living animal gave him a strange pleasure and he felt that he was being initiated into an almost magical rite, but his hands soon grew tired and Abe Zook had to finish the milking.

After both cows had been milked and the horse fed, he followed the old man to the springhouse, carrying one of the pails. Inside was a long, cement pool full of water so clear that it was almost invisible. He watched while Abe Zook lowered the pails onto concrete blocks placed so the tops of the pails were scarcely an inch above the surface. The old man took up a tin dipper, filled it from a pail, and offered it to him. The milk was so warm and rich that he could drink only a few swallows. "How about some water?" he asked apologetically. The water was sweet, without any trace of chlorine, and he drank far more than he needed, simply for the delightful taste.

"A full moon it gives," said Zook as they left the springhouse. Billy stared with joy at the mottled silver disk that seemed so much bigger and brighter than any moon he had seen in the city. While he was watching, from behind him came a hard clicking noise, instantly followed by a savage hiss.

Billy swung around. To one side of the springhouse stood a small shed, the front covered with chicken wire. A perch ran down the center and on the perch was sitting a giant ball of soft brown feathers, puffed up and glaring at the boy with two great yellow eyes that seemed the size of saucers. While Billy watched, the huge bird opened its wings like a fan, leaned forward, and the hooked, black beak vibrated rapidly, making the ominous clicking noise he had heard.

Zook laughed. "An owl. A great horned owl. He will take no more chickens."

Billy approached the shed cautiously. He could see now that the owl had two feathered turfs like horns protruding from the top of his head. The bird hissed again so savagely that Billy drew back. Not even Wasser or Grip so charmed him as did this fierce bird. It seemed so brave, so defiant, so wild.

"What are you going to do with it?" he asked.

"Sell him to hunters for a crow decoy. They will chain him on a pole and when the crows see him, they will come in to drive him away. Then the hunters shoot the crows."

"That's a terrible thing to do," the boy burst out. "Why don't you let the poor thing go?"

"To kill more chickens? No, he is worth ten dollars to me."

"I'll give you ten dollars for him," pleaded Billy. "I haven't got it but I'll earn it somehow. He can't spend the rest of his life chained to a pole just so hunters can kill crows."

"No, boy. It is better so. You will have enough to do here working for your board and keep without buying owls. Come to the house now."

Billy saw there was a small door on the side of the shed, fastened only by a hasp held with a piece of wood. He turned away to follow Abe Zook toward the house. When they entered the cluttered room, he turned to the old man and said with terrible intensity, "Please let him go. I can't stand thinking of him being tortured like that. I promise you I'll get the money. I don't know how, but I'll get it someway."

The braucher shook his head. "I cannot let him go. He will come back to kill more chickens."

Billy said no more. He sat on a bench by the fireplace while Abe Zook cooked supper over the big, wood-burning stove.

"Here, eat yourself full," said the old man cheerfully, putting two blue-and-white plates on the table. "Tonight we have Boova Shenkel—beef stew. There is still some Kasha Kuchen for the finish. That is cherry cake."

"I'm not hungry," said Billy without looking up.

"I could wish that we will be friends," said the old man slowly. "But to let the owl go is not reasonable. You are from the city and do not understand these things."

Billy made no answer. The old man finished his meal and then took up a tin dishpan.

"Still, it is not right that I work and you do nothing. Take the dishes to where the water runs from the springhouse and wash them. Here is the soap."

Billy rose and put the dishes in the pan without a word. Zook opened the door for him and he started toward the ghostly white springhouse. The moon was bright, throwing the skeleton shadows of the trees on the lawn. Wasser had appeared and trotted along beside him.

As he approached the shed, he heard the owl clicking its beak. Billy put down the dishpan and looked around him. There was no sign of Zook. Only Wasser was with him.

Billy walked quietly to the shed and after a little fumbling, opened the door. The owl was only a dim shape in the darkness but he could hear the clicking of the beak and knew that the bird was crouched down and fluffed up, watching him with its yellow, saucer eyes. He whispered, "It's all right, you can come out. Come on, old fellow."

The bird continued to click but made no motion. Billy was puzzled. He had expected the owl to fly out the door immediately. He called to it again and then decided that the bird was afraid of him. Leaving the door open, he went back to the dishpan and began washing the dishes.

He rinsed them off and then returned to the shed. The owl was still in the same position. Billy patted the chicken wire to make him fly, but the bird hissed so savagely and clicked so loudly that he was afraid Abe Zook would hear. He would have to drive the owl out.

He entered the shed and edged along the back to get the bird between him and the open door. He could see the owl against the sky now and saw the bird turn its head as though on a swivel to watch him as he inched past. It seemed incredible that the owl would not twist its own neck off. Once on the other side, he waved his hands whispering, "Shoo! Shoo!" as loudly as he dared.

The owl still refused to move. It had twisted its head around so it was looking full at him. It was crouched nearly flat on the bar, its wings open in a great arc, its head weaving up and down and the beak going like a pair of castanets.

"Move, you stupid fool!" said the boy and made a motion as if to push the bird toward the door. Suddenly one of the owl's long legs shot out like an extended lazy tongs. So swift was the motion and so great was the reach that Billy was utterly unprepared for it. The owl seized him by the hand, plunged its inch long talons into him with a force so terrible that his whole arm went numb. Billy screamed with fear and pain.

He tried to tear himself loose but the owl clung to him with one leg and to the bar with the other. The grip was so powerful that Billy sank down on his knees, sobbing with agony, holding the owl's leg with his other hand and trying to pull it loose. Outside he heard Wasser barking frantically. "Wasser, help me!" he shouted, straining at the bird's great rear talon that had gone nearly through his hand. Clicking and hissing, the owl spread its wings so they filled the narrow shed from side to side. Regardless of the pain, Billy tore the bird free from the bar while the owl thrashed about with his broad pinions, striking at him with the other foot which was now free for action.

Then Abe Zook was there. He had a lantern in his hand and he moved nearly as quickly as had the owl. Setting down the lantern, he put his heavy boot on the owl's free foot, holding it to the dirt floor. With both hands he tried to loose the deadly grasp of the other foot but he could not move the back talon. The bird seemed clamped onto the boy for good, its foot locked into place like a bulldog's jaws. Zook managed to work the forefinger of his right hand under the curve of the talon where it entered the flesh, and with his left hand pulled loose the shorter "finger" talons, which were not nearly so powerful. Then, bracing himself, he pried the owl's foot open, using the full strength of his shoulder muscles. Slowly, the rear talon was pulled out of the bloody flesh and Billy rolled away, moaning and sobbing.

"Get out of here!" Zook snapped and Billy crawled through the open door, holding the wrist of his injured hand, half hysterical with the shock of the encounter. As soon as he was out, Zook released the bird, which lay on its back, wings spread and legs bent up against its breast, ready to strike again. The old man picked up the lantern and followed the boy, securing the door after him.

Wasser was anxiously jumping on Billy, puzzled but wishing to be helpful. "Get away from me!" Billy gasped, and pushing the hound away, ran for the house. A kerosene lamp was burning on the table and by its light, he examined his hand. The "finger talons" had left some ugly gouges in his flesh but they were nothing to the mark in the back of his hand where the great rear talon had gone in. The hole looked as though it had been made by a tenpenny nail, yet there was little blood. Billy sucked at the hole and managed to draw a few drops. Then Zook came in. He blew out the lantern and walked over to the boy.

"Better to let me see," he said. Billy held out the hand. Holding the boy's wrist with his cracked, thin fingers, Zook turned it to the light.

"It hurts," said Billy unnecessarily.

"It will hurt more when the feeling comes back to your hand," said Zook grimly. He walked along under one of the beams and took down one of the herbs. "Soldier's herb, so you must a wounded soldier be," he said more cheerfully.

"Will it hurt?"

"No, no, it will take away the pain a little. It is only lance leaf." He made a poultice of the leaves and bound them in place with a strip of cloth he tore from an old shirt. "Now I will make you some medicine so you will sleep."

Billy looked at his hand. It was swelling alarmingly. Blood was seeping from under the poultice. He watched Abe Zook take a tightly packed, gummy substance from a small jar and mix it with honey. Zook held out a spoonful of the mixture and said, "Eat!"

Billy ate. His hand and whole arm throbbed so agonizingly that he did not care what the stuff was if it would stop the pain.

"Now you will sleep," said Zook. He picked up the boy with surprising gentleness and carried him to a bed in one corner of the room. Billy was feeling dizzy. He said sleepily, "I was only trying to help the owl."

"Of that we will talk later," said Zook, feeling the arm. "I will put some wet bandages on that. It makes the swelling less."

"Are you still going to sell the owl?" asked Billy.

The old man looked at him in astonishment. "You are the stubborn one. After this, I am thinking you want me to shoot that owl."

"I've been thinking about it. I got too close to him and he was only trying to defend himself. With an animal, Mr. Bryant calls it 'fear biting,' but that owl used his foot."

"Maybe that Mr. Bryant is not as big a fool as I been thinking. He knows something."

"You won't sell the owl then?"

The old man did not answer for a time until the boy repeated the question. "No, I won't sell him. I am thinking that maybe you earned that owl. I will show you how to train him to hunt for you."

Sleepy as he was, the boy opened his eyes. "Can you train an owl?"

"Yes, but now do not fight sleep. Let it take you."

Billy felt as though he were floating over the bed. Again, he seemed to be two persons. One was a sick boy with an aching arm lying on the bed, friendless and miserable. The other was free and happy, for nothing could touch him. He wondered which was the real him. Now he was flying through the woods with the owl beside him. They could talk to each other and the owl was saying that it was sorry it had hurt him. By moving his body slightly he could glide between the branches, while going at full speed, and the owl could barely keep pace with him. Then he remembered nothing more.

When he awoke he felt cold and his arm ached. He sat up and felt for an extra cover, but there was none. He was feverish and he thought of the sweet, ice-cold water in the springhouse. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted a drink of that water. Zook had taken off his shoes but he did not try to find them. In his stocking feet he crossed the floor and pushed open the door.