SandScript 2023 [Digital Exclusive]

went clear again. “But she was almost
grown by then,” he said, coming out of
his terrible memory.
“Hey, do the bird thing again,” he
said, taking another swig of whiskey.
Larry wiped his eyes but he did not
look up.
“My legs are wrapped up like this
because the nerves are all dead from
sugar crystals. The doctors say I drink
too much, eat too much sugar. I don’t
know. One time a fly got in there
and laid eggs. There was all kinda
maggots and shit eating my foot.
They had to cut my toe off. I was in
the hospital for three damn weeks,” he
said, raising his voice again. “Every day
waiting for that damn doctor to come
Flightless Bird
Bronze
Audrey Ball
in and tell me if they were going to cut my whole leg off. It was bad times, mijo. Bad times.” He
went to pass the bottle to the boy as if by some old habit and then pulled it back and set it on
his knee.
“And you know, all that time, and my daughter never came once to see me?” he said and
took another drink. “Not once. I sure could have used her pretty smile then. My son would
have come, I know that for a fact, but he died of cancer some years back. He was a champion
wrestler. Full ride scholarship to the University. He was the coach there right up until he was
admitted to the hospital. He used to bring my little granddaughters here to see me all the time
when he was alive.”
Larry picked up the bird whistle again and chirped it, kicking his legs back and forth beneath
him. It wasn’t long before a distant trill echoed back. Larry paused until he heard it again, then
he returned the call and waited until it was answered. The old man’s eyes went wide.
“You’re talking to her, mijo. She hears you,” he said, his words slurring.
The chirps went back and forth like this for several minutes until a wren fluttered down and
lighted on the arm of a Saguaro. The boy’s smile reached across his face.
“It’s a wren,” he said. “You know the Navajo believe some types of birds bring back messages
from the spirit world—from your dead relatives.” He continued the chirping, and the bird
ruffled its feathers and twisted its head to get a better look at them.
Larry heard a strange yet familiar sound and realized it was dozens of metal BBs sloshing around
inside of a rifle. The old man held the gun unsteadily in the air. Then there was the click of the
trigger and a thwack! And the wren’s wing went crooked, and it spiraled down into the arroyo.
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