Swan Sister (10 page)

Sally whispered to her rooster and set him on the gray carpet. He filled his chest with air and let out a loud
COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!

And the people stopped. They all turned to stare and didn’t even notice that their beepers were beeping and their faxes were faxing. A dark-haired woman who might have been beautiful if she hadn’t looked so tired and worried leaned forward and said, “Little girl, why have you brought that bird into our office?”

Sally said, “To trade him for a great treasure.”

The people all laughed, and some of them started shuffling away, blinking in the bright white electric light.
But the dark-haired woman said, “Why would we need a rooster, little girl?”

Sally said, “To show you how to divide your time.”

The lady said, “But we know how to do that. See here? My watch shows me the time in Tokyo and Tripoli. My calendar has my days sliced into hours and my hours sliced into minutes. Our big white board has our meetings written out weeks in advance!” All the people nodded because what the lady said was true. They all had watches and calendars as advanced as the dark-haired woman’s.

“I don’t know what time it is in Tripoli, it’s true,” said Sally. “And this rooster has never been to Tokyo. But listen here. At every sunrise, he lets out a cry. If you’re sleeping, when you hear him you know it’s time to rise up. Then you can go out and do your work for a little while. When you have enough, you can all gather together and share what you’ve made or found or gathered. You can take naps in the afternoons, and at night you can build bonfires and dance.”

The people there hadn’t taken naps in the afternoons for a very long time. The beautiful lady—and she
was
beautiful, just very tired—took off her gold watch and gave it to Sally. “I could use a nap,” she said.

A pale man dropped his great pile of papers to the floor and took a pager from his pocket. He put it in a pile with his portable phone and his car alarm deactivator. “I haven’t been dancing since I got this job,” he said.

And all the rest of the people there put
their
watches in a pile at Sally’s feet. They took the rooster and sat him
on top of the watercooler, and then they knew how to divide their time.

Toby looked at all the gold watches that Sally brought out of the sad building, and they made him feel a little more hopeful. He’d been afraid he’d never find anyone who hadn’t seen a scythe, but if Sally had found people who’d never seen a rooster, then he could find people who needed the scythe his father had left him.

He lifted his chin because now it was his turn to do the looking. He led his sisters out across the wide world.

And lost his hope. For no matter where they went, no matter how many people he asked, Toby could find no one who marveled at his scythe.

Finally, they came to a misty island full of mountains and gardens. The houses were made out of paper there, and the people wore long silk jackets. The paths around the houses were kept clear of high grass by people swinging scythes much like Toby’s. No one in that country would give him gold for his father’s gift.

A lady there saw the children, and Toby looked so sad that she took pity on him. “Toby, Toby,” she said. “Do you know what a scythe is for?”

Toby didn’t understand the question, but the lady was very kind and explained.

“No one on my island needs your scythe because scythes are for clearing a space in the green earth. And we’ve all found a peaceful place among the trees and grasses. We plant our gardens where good things were already growing. We place our houses among the trees in clearings that the
trees have left for us. Look at the brook there, and watch the old carp rise up to chase the dragonfly. We live in the land like he lives in the water, letting it flow where it will, and following the current of the blooms and birds. So do you know who to look for now, Toby?”

Toby took his sisters to find people who didn’t have a peaceful place in the earth.

They heard the subdivision before they saw it. The great roar and clash of motors and spinning blades could be heard for miles around. And when they
did
finally come to the great brick wall around the brand-new neighborhood, they saw towering clouds of smelly blue smoke rising into the sky.

The development had a black iron gate across the street leading into it, but the children were small and slipped between the bars. All around them they saw huge houses on small yards. The houses all looked alike, and all of the yards were swarming with people.

There were men roaring around on giant lawn tractors and women blowing grass and leaves with grass and leaf blowers. They were using hedge trimmers with engines to square all the hedges and buzzing weed whackers to whack all the weeds.

Toby unwrapped the scythe from its oilcloth and walked into the middle of the street. The sunlight caught its keen edge, and the sounds of the engines died away until all was quiet. Not even a bird called because there were no trees in the subdivision for birds to rest on.

A sunburnt man set down his electric shears and said,
“Little boy, why have you brought that old hand tool into our gated community?”

Toby said, “To trade it for gold.”

The people all laughed, and some of them started to turn back to the dry little lawns they’d been grooming. But the sunburnt man said, “Why would we need a scythe, little boy?”

Toby said, “To clear a place in the green earth.”

The man said, “But we know how to do that. See all these machines? I can clear my lawn of unauthorized weeds in five minutes flat with my four speed lawn mower. Our vines never grow where we don’t want them to because we spray them with poison spray. Our flowers stay in their tidy white boxes, and this whole subdivision is clear, clear, clear!” All the people nodded. They patted their machines but then hissed and sucked their fingers because the engines were still hot.

“This scythe wouldn’t be much for taming vines, that’s true,” said Toby. “And you’d have to let your flowers grow out of their boxes if this was the tool you used. But see here. When you let the blooms bloom and the trees grow, you’ll make a peaceful place on the earth. You can sit quiet in the shade and hear the birds sing. When the vine flows across the path, you can flow around it and have a little peace in the world.”

Peace and quiet were hard to find in the subdivision. The sunburnt man thought a minute, then dug a big gold coin out of his pocket and gave it to Toby. “I haven’t heard a bird sing for a long time.”

A woman pulled off her gardening gloves and found another coin for Toby. She put it on the street next to Tilford Fortune’s old scythe. “I’d like a little peace with the earth; I’d like the earth to feel at peace with me.”

And all the rest of the people gave Toby coins or gold necklaces. They put the loud, smoking machines away and let the plants and animals come back to live among them.

When the children had walked a little way from the subdivision, little Molly sat down on the ground and started to cry. She hugged the wicker basket she’d carried on all their journeying in her lap.

“Don’t cry, Molly,” said Sally. “We’ll find a man who’s never seen a cat. Or at least we’ll find out what a cat is for and take it to people who need it.”

But Molly cried still.

“Don’t worry, Molly,” said Toby. “We didn’t think we’d find out what roosters or scythes are for, but we did.”

Little Molly shook her head. “I
know
what cats are for,” she said. “Cats are for holding in your lap when you’re sad or lonesome. I’m sad now, so I’m holding this cat here.”

The lid of the wicker basket popped open, and the big yellow cat stretched out. He looked up into Molly’s green eyes and started kneading her stomach. He purred and purred.

“But why are you sad, Molly?” asked Sally and Toby.

“I’m sad because we have to sell our cat,” Molly said. “With all the watches you’ll trade for food, and with all
the gold you’ll buy new clothes. I know we need a new house, but I love our kitty.”

Then Sally and Toby were sad too because they loved the cat as much as Molly did. So they sat on the ground, and the cat went around from lap to lap, purring.

Finally, Sally stood up. She said, “We’re being silly. There are plenty of watches and coins to buy food and clothes
and
a new house.”

Toby said, “But our father told us to take the things he gave us and trade them for treasure.”

Molly thought about the last thing her father had told her. “No, Toby. He said to find someone who needs a cat, and that I would know what to do then.”

Sally asked her, “Have you found someone who needs a cat?”

Molly nodded. “We do,” she said.

Then Toby asked her, “Do you know what to do now?”

Molly nodded again.

Then she stood up and put the tabby back in its basket, and she led her brother and sister home.

They traded the watches and the coins for food and clothes, and their neighbors came and helped them fix the shingles and the shutters on their cabin. In the mornings they woke up and went out and did their work for a little while. In the afternoons they rested among the wild-flowers that Tilford Fortune had always let grow right up against the walls. And at night they lit bonfires and danced.

“Like Sally, Toby, and Molly,” says
C
HRISTOPHER
R
OWE
, “I live in a rural county in Kentucky. Like them, I once had to leave—and when I did, I had to work in offices and live in neighborhoods like the ones the children of Tilford Fortune visit in this story. I’m glad I found my way home.”

C
HRISTOPHER
R
OWE
writes a column for a magazine based in his hometown, stories for books and magazines, and is working on his first novel. When he’s not writing, he spends as much time tramping about in the woods as possible and working on the farm his family has owned for three generations, which also employs (at last count) 291 cows, thirty-one cats, and one little dog.

Sitting on a small wooden bench, Ava could see the blue sky
turn orange through the tiny attic window. The air smelled good, like wet leaves, and birds chattered as they always did in the early evening. She could hear her stepmother, too, tearing at weeds in the garden, cursing them for their very existence, despite her best efforts with pesticides and poisons. But Ava liked the weeds—tall and green, they looked good enough to eat.

She went to an all-girls’ school, and that morning her stepmother had spoken to the school psychologist.

“She won’t talk,” her stepmother said to Dr. Fran Munder while Ava waited in the hall. The door was open a crack; she could hear everything.

“I’ve consulted with her teachers,” Dr. Munder said.

“They say Ava talks, maybe not excessively, but when necessary. She’s a good student. Maybe she doesn’t have close friends, but the other girls don’t shun her either—”

“You don’t get it,” her stepmother said. “She won’t talk to
me.
I try—I really try. I think I’ve done quite well, under the circumstances. Ever since her father died—oh, never mind!”