Traveling Light (24 page)

“Lots of photos with legislators, animal advocates,” Tony said. “He’s helped with updating the Endangered Species Act; Migratory Bird Treaty Act; Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act, Jesus, I could go on. Guy’s an animal nut.”

“He’s hardly a nut, Tone,” Paula said in the middle of a yawn. Tony then read off Rick’s registration number with the state of Minnesota as a wildlife rehabilitator.

Paula missed Tony and Heavenly, missed being known. It was a strange experience that people looked suspiciously at her. In New York life moved so fast that few were suspicious for their mere presence. But here she was the mysterious newcomer. Materializing out of thin air with few possessions other than a wolf dog who understood Greek, she’d landed a job and cozied up to the local grocer for information about her new employer.

“You talk to Roger lately?” Tony asked.

“Yesterday,” Paula said. “He’s busy with the collider. I think we’re on a talking hiatus.”

“We miss you, dolly,” Tony said. “Here’s Heav.”

“So tell me what Mr. Rick Gunnarsson looks like?” Heavenly said.

“Forget about it, Heav; the only thing hot for me is a turkey vulture.”

“A what?”

“Forget it. Had to be there.”

“So what are you doing now?”

“Right now? Sitting on a boulder in the lake talking.”

“You’re what?!”

“It’s the only place I get a signal.”

“She’s sitting in the middle of the fucking lake,” Heavenly called to Tony.

“I’m hardly in the middle, Heav,” she said.

“That’s all right; it makes for a good story,” Heavenly said. “So what’s this town like?”

“It’s cute. Scenery’s gorgeous.”

“You’re right near the border.”

“I know.”

“What happened to going to see Bernie, your advisor?” Heavenly was relaying everything back to Tony.

“I’m going to make it up there one of these days.”

“How’s that precious dog?”

“Oh, he’s doing great,” Paula said. “Having the time of his life. He’s got a buddy now.”

“You got another one?”

“No. This guy Rick’s gotta”—she wondered what to call Sam: a house wolf?— “one that’s Fotis’ size.”

“Cool.”

“Hey, I better go. I left Fotis alone at the cabin I’m renting.”

“We love you; stay safe,” they called into the phone.

After ending the call she sat on the boulder, looking out to the horizon. Except for Fotis, there was no urgency to get back. The sun was beginning to shift into rich late afternoon, bathing everything in its color. Everyone kept noting how the days were growing shorter. She pulled up her knees and tucked into a ball. It felt like she was inhaling the beauty of the sky, the aquamarine horizon, all of it so serene, so quiet. She sat there a few moments longer until she missed Fotis and headed back to take him for a walk.

*   *   *

Early the next morning, cars from Rick’s houseguests were still parked out front, covered with a fine layer of pollen and dust. As she walked Fotis down the grassy path she’d noticed the lights were on in Rick’s home.

It was after seven and Rick wasn’t out yet. She put Fotis in the back gate and walked toward the main building to begin preparing food for the eagle and the owl. There were no entries on the clipboard; this would be the first feeding of the day. She carefully weighed the food and noted the amount as Rick had instructed so that they knew exactly how much each was eating per feeding. As the blender was going, puréeing fresh fish into a consistency that would go through the feeding tube, Rick walked in with his contingent of guests.

She turned off the blender out of courtesy and looked up.

“Paula,” he acknowledged. His voice sounded different. Quickly he rattled off their names, none of which she caught. They watched her closely, as if waiting for a reaction. Each nodded as they were introduced and she nodded back. Paula felt uncomfortable.

“They’re in town for the day; I’m showing them around.”

“Rick tells us you’re from New York City,” one of them said in a way that hit her wrong.

“Guilty as charged,” slipped right out of her mouth.

They seemed taken aback.

“I have a cousin in Brookyn,” one of them said.

“Well,” Paula said as they began milling about. “Have a nice visit; looks like you’ll have beautiful weather.” She’d picked up the standard weather talk from Maggie: “When you got nothing to say, there’s always the weather.”

She turned the blender back on, hoping they wouldn’t interpret it as a hostile act.

“Mind if they stay to watch you feed the owl?” Rick asked, after the food was ready.

“Doesn’t bother me.” She walked over to the box, unclipped the clothespins, bent over and lifted the owl.

There was a bit of a collective gasp.

“I’ll hold, you feed, this time,” Rick said.

“Sure.” She transferred the owl to him. She immediately looked to Paula.

“You hungry, sweetie?” Paula asked. Loading up the feeder, she filled the plunger with food and pressed out all the air.

Rick held the owl against his chest, each leg secured in his hands.

Paula parted the owl’s beak and slowly, carefully slid the tube into the esophagus and down into her stomach.

She looked up to check with Rick.

He nodded.

She pushed slowly on the plunger.

“Wow,” a woman with pearl stud earrings said. “You’ve learned this in just a couple of days?”

After she removed the tube, Paula glanced toward the woman. Something about her was bothersome. “Don’t quite have my Ph.D. yet in raptor feeding,” Paula said, unable to mask the slap of sarcasm usually reserved for unreasonable colleagues. The sharpness surprised all of them.

The owl blinked as she looked at Paula. She smiled and smoothed where the owl’s feathers had gotten ruffled due to Paula’s inexperience.

She stroked the owl and lowered her head to feel the feathers on her nose. It was like getting kissed by nature.

Paula looked more closely at the woman. Maybe she was Rick’s girlfriend. Didn’t seem like it, though. Aside from being too uptight, they didn’t exude the lush vibe of lovers that’s difficult to hide.

“I’ll show you the otters we’re going to release on Friday,” Rick said, turning to place the owl back in the box. “I’ll be back in a little bit to feed the eagle.”

The group huddled together before turning to leave the building, exchanging information in low voices.

After the door closed, Paula slumped. She felt like she could cry. She’d sounded like a bitter, aging bird-woman. How long had it been that she’d been exiled from love? It felt like a century. And what the hell was she doing here? She should’ve kept driving to Bernie’s. Maybe she should go to Thunder Bay on the weekend, get some perspective. Yet she was unsure about the eagle. He wasn’t doing well; he’d seemed more listless last night. Rick did say that the anti-toxin was hard on them, but she was scared. She yearned for the eagle’s defiance, his yellow-gray stare, and for him to live that she might see him released and not fighting for his life in a cardboard washing machine box from Sears. She peeked into the box. He didn’t look back; he was lying on his side, yellow beak parted, and he was panting. “Hold on, oraios
,
” she whispered. Tears burned her eyes to see him fighting to breathe. She covered the box again and went out to the flight room.

After she cleaned the flight room, Rick motioned for her to follow him and help feed and medicate the eagle. She hurried to catch up with him.

Sigmund caught sight of her and tottered after, flapping his wings and grunting. He was courting her, as Rick had pointed out.

“What do you want from me?” She turned to the bird, opening her hands. Sigmund seemed to take this as encouragement and hurried to her side.

“Hey, Rick.” She finally caught him. “So tell me about your friends?” she asked.

He stopped. “What about them?”

He’d been so polite when they’d been there. “I don’t know,” she said. “It all seems very formal, like you’re having meetings.”

He seemed to wonder if he should answer her. “They’re people I work with.”

“Are they attorneys, too?” It was a strange position, knowing so much about him but not letting on.

“They were impressed with your level of skill.”

She got the sense it wasn’t meant as a compliment.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“They were wondering where you’ve worked with raptors.”

“Maybe I’m just a natural,” she said. She put on the leather gloves and walked toward the cardboard box. Unclipping the bedsheet, she rolled it back and looked in.

“Hi,” she said. “You gonna let me pick you up today,
micros mou, esai oraios.
”

The eagle opened his eyes but made no effort to raise himself up.

“Hey, Rick?”

He quickly stepped over.

“He seems worse. I checked him after you left.”

“Pick him up and let’s look,” Rick said.

She bent over, supported the eagle’s body with one hand and grasped his feet with the other. He looked over at Rick.

“Hey, guy,” Rick said.

Paula carried and then laid the eagle down on the treatment table.

“Doesn’t he seem worse?” she said.

Rick said nothing but quickly checked the bird over. Whether Rick wasn’t one for false optimism or the eagle was worse, he gave no indication.

“I’ll draw blood,” he said. “You go on and run it over to Darryl’s. I’ll call him, have him check for white blood cell count. Sometimes these birds have subcutaneous infections that go undetected.”

She looked at Rick. “Are we going to tube-feed him?”

Rick seemed to be thinking about it.

“Let’s see if he can eat solids.”

Paula laid the eagle down on the treatment table, gently securing him with her forearms. The bird was as long as her torso.

“It’s okay,” she purred to him. The eagle stopped pushing back with his wings at the sound of her voice.

“We’re gonna check you again,” she explained. “See if you’re getting better.”

She could’ve sworn she caught a hint of a smile on Rick’s lips as he drew blood. Afterward, Rick wrapped the eagle in a blanket to secure his talons and held the eagle against his chest. Using a pair of long tweezers, Paula picked up the fresh fish she’d cut into chunks for the eagle to grab.

“Hold it closer so he can reach.”

“Can’t he smell it?”

“No. They have a poor sense of smell, not like turkey vultures.”

She moved the fish closer, and tapped his beak. He still didn’t take it. She looked at Rick.

“Press it harder against his beak,” Rick said. “He’s still a bit confused. Probably never been hand-fed by a bunch of people before.”

She tried again. To her surprise the eagle grabbed the fish and almost the tweezers, too. She pulled them out of his mouth and grabbed another chunk of fish, offering it up.

“Wait for him to swallow; then offer more.”

He grabbed it in one chunk. To her surprise, he ate most of the fish.

“Either he’s full or he’s getting tired,” Rick said. As soon as he said it, the eagle seemed to wilt. “I think enough for now,” Rick said, and carried him back to the box. “This was good.

“I’m going to check him again in a few hours. Will you be around?”

She looked at her watch. “I’ll make a point of it.”

“Good. I’ll call Darryl. Start him on some antibiotics.”

Paula loaded up Fotis. After she’d dropped off the tube of blood at Darryl’s she drove a few blocks to the IGA to get another rotisserie chicken and bread. She hoped Maggie was there but was disappointed to see a young woman, maybe high school age, marking down packages of blueberries. The girl looked up as Paula entered.

“Hi,” Paula said. “Is Maggie here?”

The girl motioned toward the back with the wax pen she was using.

Paula found Maggie rearranging the meat shelf in the refrigerator section.

“Hey, Maggie,” she said.

The woman turned; she was wearing winter gloves and a sweater.

“Hi, Paula.” She smiled. “I’m glad you stopped by; did Rick mention the potluck at my place tomorrow evening?”

“No.”

Maggie sighed. She sounded frustrated. Paula hadn’t seen her like this before. “I told him to have you give me a call.”

“Oh, what’s up?”

“In a couple of weeks the regional rep’s stopping with that vintage jewelry line I told you about. Already told some friends from Two Harbors and Silver Bay. I’ll make dinner; this way you can meet some of the women in the area,” she said. “Tomorrow night it’s just some local friends. You game?”

“Yep,” Paula said, delighted at the invitation.

“Good. So you’ll come on over around six?”

“I’d love to.”

“Remind me to give you directions before you leave.”

“Want me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself.”

Paula looked at the winter gloves.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Damn refrigerator section broke down again.” Maggie looked at the unit as if it were a noncompliant employee she was thinking of firing.

Paula’d never thought about grocery store equipment before.

“Was checking out a customer at lunchtime and his bologna was room temp,” Maggie explained. “So I went back and sure enough, the damn thing stopped working.”

Paula watched as Maggie emptied packages of lunch meat into blue plastic bins.

“You need some help?” Paula put down her purse and pushed up the sleeves of her long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Would love some if you’re offering.”

Paula smiled. “Where’s Bobby Ray?”

“Oh, he’s not so good,” Maggie said. “Hospitalized in Duluth. Last night he started hallucinating. Took his shirt off in the housewares aisle after he took a box of kitchen matches and started striking them one by one, examining his skin, convinced there were poems written on the surface. He’s worked for me two years. Watched him struggle with this mental illness. So young to struggle like this, but he’ll be back, probably in a couple of weeks. It’s happened before.”

“Poor guy,” Paula said.

“So I’m down one person today. We’re moving the lunch meat, the smoked fish, all the ready-to-eats over to the dairy section until Jim gets off of work. Jim’s my fix-it guy,” Maggie explained. “He’ll figure it out.”