Leather Birds by Devon Pitlor

8/9/2019 Leather Birds by Devon Pitlor

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-1Leather Birds by Devon Pitlor

Round in shrinking spirals they swoop,

Each with its diamond-shaped head,

They gouge your eyes and gore your heart,

And shred you until you are dead.

----from “The Ballad of the Leather Birds” by Duke Barvo, 1974

I. The dread of racism

Brooke Nescott had lived most of her conscious life in Aristock, and she was

more than aware that whites had always outnumbered blacks in her town.Perhaps her parents had chosen to live here for that reason, but it didn’t seem

likely because neither of Brooke’s now deceased parents had ever given any

indication of having any fear or animosity against African-Americans. Brooke’s

father, a career military person, naturally worked with them every day and

depended on them for his own safety during difficult and dangerous missions.

Brooke’s mother, as with so many other things, just never mentioned any

subject that bordered on race distinction. Of course, in the eyes of some, this

unconsciousness of the black race could have easily been interpreted as a latentform of white racism during the chaotic and troubled era of Brooke’s youth, but

all that Brooke knew was that people of color had never played a very large role

in her life up to her thirty-sixth year. Like so many other social issues which

disinterested the perennially bored Brooke, the presence or absence of the black

man was simply something that never crossed her mind. Her mysterious visitors

from the future, the disappearance of Dragonsnort, her recent dream voyages

into the Secondary Alternate Realm and her rescue from certain death by

hanging, a rescue effected by a certain enthralling Joel, about whom she had

recently learned much more through select reading on certain computer-based

websites and forums, had done much to erect a wall of strangeness between

Brooke and what she considered the mundane and bland world which

surrounded her. Deep within, Brooke sought not only the affection and vibrancy

she had experienced with Dragonsnort but also the electric sense of adventure

she had experienced in the dream realm at the side of Joel. In short, the

presence or absence of blacks in Aristock was something that had never

crossed her radar. She had no feelings one way or another.

Thus it did not come as shock to her when suddenly and without warning she

chanced to look out into her backyard and saw her ten year old son Jared

running around playing with a couple of other boys from his last year’s fourth

grade class, one of whom, named Rialto Stevens, was black. Rialto had been

with Jared at the house several times before, and the boys had played video

games and watched television together, and Brooke had certainly seen Rialto inJared’s class when she visited because, if for no other reason, Rialto was one of

only two black children in the room, and, far from being discriminated against,

actually appeared to enjoy a sort of celebrity status accorded to one who

represented a true minority. Aristock was simply not a racist place, and Brooke

had always been quite pleased by her son’s friendship with Rialto. She had even

gotten to know the boy’s mother somewhat, a totally nice woman who worked as

a nurse in the same hospital complex where Brooke had been employed for over

ten years as a histotechnologist.

But on that bright August day of 2010 upon watching the boys jumping around in

the yard, doing simply what boys do, Brooke was gripped by the most profound

of terrors. She knew it had something to do with Rialto, but she could not say

what. Under a roof, she felt, Rialto was fine, but there was something that

bothered Brooke acutely about seeing him outside playing alongside her son. A

sense of embarrassment clouded her mind at first, which was replaced by a

simple curiosity moments later. There was something about even a familiar

black boy playing in the yard that gave Brooke shivers, and she needed to

search her mind and find out what it was. Certainly it had nothing to do with

racism, but rather it seemed to emanate from some long-repressed memory of

an event in her own childhood. The recall file was simply corrupt or missing in

her mind. Access was denied.

She called the boys in for snacks. They sat around her kitchen table and drank

strawberry flavored milk and ate sugary cookies. Almost surreptitiously, Brooke

studied Rialto. He, like her own Jared, was a healthy, tough and fine-looking

child. His dark skin was smooth and unblemished, and Brooke envied it as all

light skinned people do. A white dusting of cookie sugar covered Rialto’s upper

lip, highlighting the rich chocolaty shade of his skin. Rialto was truly a

handsome child. Brooke smiled politely as Rialto and another white friend of

Jared’s named Tony something thanked her for the snacks, shook Jared’s hand

in a very mature way, and said they needed to get home. Brooke watched Tonyand Rialto as they walked off the porch and down the front sidewalk together. A

clear azure sky hung over their heads, and before long the green boughs of leaf-

laden trees obscured their view. Brooke felt no pang of fear from anything

whatsoever. This had only come when she had seen all three of them playing in

the yard. The issue remained an unresolved mental puzzle.

II. Jared, always curious, spurs another memory

Perhaps her precocious son was reading her mind, as he often did, when he

rolled his huge brown eyes at Brooke and asked whether she had a date that

evening or whether she could talk. Brooke, having no plans, was always happy

to engage in conversation with her son. Since Dragonsnort’s disappearance

over two years before, Jared and his mother had bonded to a degree far beyond

the usual mother/son affection, and Brooke reserved as much time as she could

to talk with Jared and answer even the most personal of his questions.

As the evening sun turned harshly orange, the two sat together in the small

kitchen dining nook, and Brooke patiently waited for whatever Jared was going

to ask. She admired the way the sun glinted off his heavy shock of sandy,

mismanaged hair. Much like that of Dragonsnort, she mused. There was not one

hour of one day that Brooke did not miss Dragonsnort, but she had ceased to

talk about him to his son because, in effect, Dragonsnort had just been too

complex to understand, even for a gifted and intuitive boy like Jared. But as hegrew bigger, there was no doubt that Jared was becoming more and more the

image of his father. She pictured him one day with metal piercings and multiple

tattoos like Dragonsnort and wondered whether he would acquire an interest in

music. With Jared, it was always hard to judge what he might become, but the

boy gave all the signs of a deep sagacity that foreshadowed a remarkable future.

Brooke knew implicitly that she needed to keep up with him and his far-reaching

questions. That had become her one obligation now in life.

Sad, she thought, I am still young enough and pretty enough to find another man, but I am bored by everyone I meet. Only Jared and the memory of his

enchanting father interest me. And of course there was Joel, but he was only in

a dream---or was he?

Jared got up and dished out two bowls of ice cream and brought them back to

the table. He enjoyed eating ice cream during his conversations with his mother.

It didn't matter if the two had not eaten dinner yet. It was discussion time, andthat called for ice cream.

"Mom, why don't we have many of Rialto's kind here?" he asked tilting a

inquisitive eye at his mother. "I mean there is Brandy in my class and Rialto.

That's all. In some cities there are thousands of African-Americans, but we don't

have many here. How come?" Then he rocked backwards in his chair, folded

his arms and waited for a reply.

Brooke felt guilty about not knowing the answer. She wondered if the whole

town had been some sort of bigoted refuge for whites, but no, she had never

heard anything of the sort. This was exactly the sort of question that

Dragonsnort could have answered with his seemingly boundless knowledge of

places and people. But Dragonsnort was not there.

"I don't know," she said glumly. "I really don't know. I have lived here since I

was a child. My parents bought this house when I was five or six. We used to

live outside of Philadelphia. My father was in the special forces and he was

always being sent overseas on missions. I think he just needed a home base."

Brooke paused for a moment. In her dim memory, she saw herself starting the

first grade at Tabilan Elementary. The new children she met were just unformed

shadows in her mind. They may as well have been ghosts. She remembered

them as a shapeless group, mostly snarling faces treating her to the usual

torment accorded to new kids. And then she saw them grow bigger along withher. She saw them blossom into much larger kids and choose groups and gangs

and teams. And she remembered some of their names, names that would mean

nothing to Jared, as she had never maintained any lasting friendships. In the

panorama of her fragmented memory, there were very few black kids, but yes,

there were some. Now she was sure of it. They had no distinct faces, but they

were black. They hung about in the corners of her recollection like wraiths. She

recalled none of their names or whose clique they eventually belonged to. Yes,

she thought at length, I must have been as prejudiced as everyone else. I must

have avoided them. The black children did, however, totally disappear from her

memories when she entered Laughton Middle School. There everyone was

white. She was positive of it. In fact, she remembered that it had bothered her a

bit once, the sheer whiteness of her classmates and teachers. Jared had

provoked an entire train of thought about this issue which had not surfaced in

her mind for eons. Brooke suddenly came to the realization that certain patches

of memory were missing in her recollection. There was something about

starting middle school in the sixth grade, something she couldn't quite get a grip

on. Then she remembered that Jared was going into the fifth grade the following

fall. He would attend Casgrove Elementary as he always had because they had

closed Tabilan, the school she first attended. Why had they closed Tabilan?

Brooke recalled something about the wiring and the drywall. It was an old,

outdated building. That was all. Tabilan dated from the early part of the

Twentieth Century, or perhaps before. It had been built on the site of some older,

institutional buildings. She knew that, but there was something else. Something

about things circling in sky. What were they? Think as she could, Brooke couldnot call then out of the dim cave of lost memory.

III. White man's guilt and a new friend

The next day was Monday, another workday at the clinic. Brooke hated the

routine nature of her laboratory job, but she needed to pay the bills. All morning

she had been disturbed by her inability to answer Jared's question about thepaucity of black residents in Aristock. Why had she never herself thought of this

before? She was just like everyone else, and Brooke, being Brooke, hated that.

She was thirty-six years old now and had never really had a close black friend in

her life. That Monday, while watching the variously garbed medical personnel

file into the hospital complex from the safety of her parked car, Brooke decided

to do something about it. There was, naturally, Dr. Amobana, a dark and

handsome Nigerian, but Amobana was married. There were also various lab

techs and other medical assistants of African descent. She watched some of

them parade into the buildings, realizing that the extent of her relationship withthem had always ended at a cordial but perfunctory good morning. Some were

cute guys too. Interesting looking and probably players of some sort. Why had

she never scanned them before? It probably had something to do with her

upbringing or more recently her immutable bonding to Dragonsnort.

Dragonsnort had for a time totally blinded her to other men. She did not regret

that. But, no, she finally thought. I have just been a garden variety racist.

Nothing better than that. The blacks have just been invisible to me. Brooke felt

a pang of self-loathing and continued to watch the arriving employees, searching

for black faces. She was suddenly determined to make a black friend, someone

who could unveil the mystery of Aristock's tiny African-American population to

Then out of the crowd came a familiar face. Caprice Stevens, an oncology nurse

and Rialto's mother. She had spoken to Caprice several times in the past,

mostly to ask whether Rialto could stay over with Jared. Caprice was vivacious,intelligent and physically animated. Like Brooke, she did not appear to have a

man in her life and was probably raising Rialto alone. Like a schoolgirl, Brooke

felt she must have a lot in common with Caprice, or at least she would find out.

She jumped out of the car and deliberately put herself into Caprice's path on the

hospital sidewalk.

"Good morning," Brooke chirped, almost unnaturally. "Rialto was at my place

yesterday. I hope I didn't keep him too late. I hope he had a good time."

Caprice seemed taken aback. Obviously, Brooke was acting too aggressive in

the abruptness of her approach. After all, she had never been so hale with

Caprice in the past. Brooke realized that she may have seemed at best

counterfeit. Caprice halted in her path and smiled warmly.

"Rialto always has a good time with Jared," she said, searching for words.

"They get along real well." Then Caprice smiled again and started to regain her

pace. The conversation was going nowhere because, in reality, it had nowhere

to go. Other than their sons playing together, there was very little basis for afriendship between the two women. A chasm of strangeness gaped in the space

between them. Brooke realized that Caprice was growing leery of her motives.

She remembered Dragonsnort and his way with people. Dragonsnort had always

been direct and said exactly what he wanted to say. There was no beating

around any bushes when it came to Dragonsnort. Brooke decided to press on in

the same way that Dragonsnort would have. She did, after all, have a small

agenda, something she wanted to discuss. Why not just skip the pretence and

tell Caprice what it was right away?

"Look," Brooke began, "I like your son a lot. I wanted to maybe get to know you

better too. We both probably have a lot in common. I know you eat lunch with

your gang in the third floor refectory. I thought maybe we could..."

Caprice gave Brooke a disarming smile and put her totally at ease by interjecting

"Yes, we can. I bored with all this medical talk anyway. Promise me you won'tdiscuss anything biological, and we can do lunch today. I need a table away

from some of my colleagues anyway."

The two women, uncharacteristically, shook hands there on the sidewalk entry

and agreed to meet in the cafeteria in Brooke's clinic building. They could sit

alone and talk.

Later that morning Brook realized that Caprice had seen right through her. She

reinforced her decision to be direct. Relationships between blacks and whiteswere always strained, unless you were Dragonsnort and just didn't give a shit,

and Brooke was not going to play some racial dance-around game. That much

she had learned from Dragonsnort. That much she had also learned from Jared.

The noon hour found both women hustling through the scrub-clad crowd of

techs and doctors in the Lab Annex cafeteria. Both of them broke into the

seemingly immobile line of eaters to grab small salads and tiny bowls of soup.

Both, obviously, were concerned about their weight and ate light lunches.

Brooke went to pay for both lunches but Caprice stopped her. "I'll get my own"was all she said, and Brooke shrugged and let it drop at that. Then Caprice

added "These people are boring as all hell. Let's get a corner table." Brooke

was delighted. Here was someone else of her own age who was bored by the

general flow of daily humanity. The whole encounter was starting well. When

they settled down at a table, Brooke once again took her clue from Dragonsnort

and pressed directly on to her point. There was no reason why she could not

spring exactly what she wanted onto an interesting person like Caprice. After

all, they were different from the lowing herd, or at least Brooke wanted to be.

"Both of our boys are smart and healthy," she began, staring at Caprice. "So

let's not talk about them."

"Okay," said Caprice, seemingly pleased by the refreshing opening.

"I'm going to ramble for a minute," Brooke continued, "and I hope you can bear

with me, but I have a question for you, and I'm going to get to it. But first, let metell you that I have lived most of my life in Aristock, and, as far as I am

concerned, the place sucks. I've stayed here because of my job and my house

and because...well...I'm just too plain cowardly and lazy to go somewhere else."

"I came here last year," said Caprice blankly. She poked at the browning leaves

of her cafeteria salad as if she were looking for bugs or for some reason not to

eat them.

"I used to attend Tabilan Elementary School before they closed it. I can'tremember why. Lately there seems to be a lot of stuff I can't remember. Okay, I

told you I was going to ramble, but here is my question. Maybe you're the wrong

person to ask it to. Maybe not. I am not one of these white people who thinks

that all blacks know everything about other blacks, but I am an outsider. In all

these years, I have never connected with this place, and I'm not sure I know the

city at all. I'm not sure I know anything about anything....or even care. I get

bored very easily..."

"So do I," interjected Caprice raising an eyebrow.

"Why do you think there are so few blacks in this town? Did you ever notice

that? I mean, in school there used to be a few, and then later they all but

disappeared. The blacks I see now are like you, I think. They have moved here

recently from somewhere else. What is there about this place? Are we a bunch

of bigoted whites or what?" Brooke knew her face was beginning to visibly

flush. Perhaps she had gone too far.

Caprice poked some more at her anaemic salad and then pushed it aside,

turning her attention to the rather greasy soup that she sloshed around casually

in the chipped, institutional bowl in front of her. She looked up at Brooke and

grinned.

"I could get mad at you," she began with a little laugh, "but since you at least

gave me the credit for not being a representative of my race, let me tell you this.

I came here with Rialto to get away from a bad neighborhood and because the

medical center pays well. To be totally honest with you, I have never encountered any discrimination here. My neighbors are all white, and we get

along fine. White doctors and professors ask me out on dates. I have a perfectly

fair white supervisor who just gave me a promotion and a raise. Maybe it's

because I am a true minority here. Maybe not. But I can tell you that I have a

race-radar as do most other people of color. If I were being discriminated

against, I would know it. So far nothing. Yep, it's a humdrum place full of dreary

people, but they have all been nothing but nice to me and Rialto, and speaking of

Rialto, his teachers have all been white too, and he loves them. They seem to

love him. Maybe they are all pretending, but it doesn't show. As for why there

are not more blacks here, I can't say. I don't know much about the town's history.

There are black people living and working all over Pennsylvania. I don't know

why so many of us have skipped over Aristock. I'm sorry about my answer. I

really can't help you."

Brooke, totally ignoring her food like Caprice, felt disappointed. Even though

she had said that she did not expect an African-American to know about other

African-Americans, she secretly expected more.

Caprice pushed all of her food to the side. "Let's go outside," she said. "I still

smoke. Wanna join me?"

"I gave it up a couple of years ago, but yes."

The two women rose from the table and emptied their still full trays in the

appropriate recycling bins and went outside to the smokers' corner of the

building. Caprice lit up a long, thin, brown cigarette, inhaled and stared at

Brooke for a minute. It was a hot August day, and both women complained of

the heat. They knew they would not be outside for long. Brooke sensed that

Caprice was still thinking about her question and had more to say.

"I came from Delancy Street off the Mainline in Philly," Caprice said without

prologue. "That's the ghetto to you, Honey, and, you know the so-called ghetto

is filled with all kinds of people. Some are kind and caring. Others would slit

your throat for ten bucks. Still others are kind of spooky. The ghetto has a wayof pulling in on itself, being kind of separate. Not all black folks are good and

pure either, like some misinformed whites would like to make them. Some love

living in the rent zones and all the flashdash action that comes with it. Now, not

all of us are from the South either. I suppose most of us here can trace

ourselves back to some slave, but not everyone. I had an aunt, Begaya, she was

from Haiti and living with this old spooky voodoo guy from some other island.

They practiced that religion. I forget what it is called. Something voodoo. They

did things like call up spirits and turn people into zombies. They cut the heads

off goats, put them on a stake in the yard and prayed to them. Weird shit. We

used to avoid them like we would a den of snakes. These were the kind of

relatives that never left the inner city. Their creepy religion and the neighborhood

just held them in. Anyway, it was my aunt Begaya and her scary old witch doctor

boyfriend who started shouting and braying when I got this job in Aristock. As if

they actually knew something about what was beyond the city limits of

Philadelphia. "Anywhere but Aristock," my aunt once screamed at me. "Don't

go to Aristock!!" Now what in the hell did these kind of people know about

Aristock? We are four hours out of Philly. Far as I know, they came here fromHaiti as children and had never left Philadelphia. So why were they so riled up

about me moving to Aristock? They knew I wanted out of Philly with Rialto, and

they didn't give a hoot. Usually all they wanted from my family was money

anyway. But Aristock, that spooked them. I mean really spooked them. So

there. All I have done is add to your mystery. Let's get back to work before we

both have to move to the ghetto."

and Jared to play alone. At once, the fear vanished. Brooke became calm and

relaxed and realized that whatever was troubling her came from the sight of

Rialto outside playing with the boys. She needed to test this discovery. Rialto

left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen. Could he have a glass of water?

Of course. Why not some lemonade? She poured him a glass from the pitcher

in the refrigerator and resumed watching out of the window. Everything seemed

normal. There was no fear. She waited for Rialto to finish his drink and then told

him to go outside. The minute he joined the other two boys, Brooke's heart

began hammering again. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Yes, it wasabout Rialto---the black kid---being in the yard. Inside, Rialto was just another

kid, and a nice one too, a good playmate for Jared, but outside he inspired panic.

Brooke realized at length that she needed to get the boys inside. Any excuse

would do. Hastily she located a box of chocolate chip cookies and dumped them

carelessly into a bowl. She ran to the door and waved the bowl in front of the

three boys. "Cookie time," she gasped, almost unable to speak. "Cookie time!

Come in and get some cookies." Brooke realized she was acting strange, but

she needed to relieve herself of the fright. Above all, she needed to find out what

was causing it.

V. A trip into local history

The Historical Foundation of Aristock amounted to an office in the back of one

branch of the public library. Inside the office were shelves of books, sheaves of

old newspapers, stacks of photos, galleries of VHS tapes and a few CD and DVD

disks as well. There were also two very messy desks. On one of the desks

Brooke immediately noted a name plate: Cassandrea Borlick. Brookeremembered Cassandrea from high school. She had been part of a crowd of

kids who represented some of the oldest families in Aristock. For reasons

unknown Cassandrea's group always hung together and were very clannish.

They considered themselves some sort of aristocracy due to the prominence of

their parents and to the fact that a few parks and streets in the center of town

bore their family names. It did not strike Brooke as strange that Cassandrea was

still a Borlick. She probably was the girl least likely to marry in Brooke's entire

class, and she was ugly to boot. There was something that was always hostile

about Cassandrea's ugliness too, but Brooke forgot what it was. She was glad

that Cassandrea did not seem to be present, although she doubted that

Cassandrea would have even recognized her after all this time. The class of

1992 was far behind both of them now, and Brooke had had very little to do with

it even when she was part of it. Cassandrea Borlick had always been

unpleasant and repellant.

The other desk was staffed by a young man who looked more like a high school

senior than a city employee. His name plate was turned sideways and obscured

by stacks of decaying magazines from which he was busy clipping articles for

lamination. He raised up his head to greet Brooke and then immediately

dropped it again to the scissors work he was performing. When he was finished

clipping, he sighed and said "Well now. What can I help you with?" The kid

stood up and bent over his desk, staring straight into Brooke's cleavage. During

most of their discussion his eyes would return to her chest like a fumbling

adolescent who was getting his first look a woman close up. His face was

covered with pimples which seemed to brighten as he spoke. Brooke also noted

that he was wearing orange sneakers, a meaningless detail that caught her

attention for a moment. What could this kid know about the history of Aristock?

He didn't even know how to match his socks or disguise his interest in female

parts. But Brooke was determined to make the most of her visit.

"I want to know about...about..." She could not bring herself to tell this leering

boy that she was interested in the history of African-Americans in Aristock.

Stammering and searching for words, she finally said "Tabilan Elementary

School on Perimeter Street in Old Town." The boy still fixated on her chest, slid

sideways over to a huge filing cabinet and began digging through some

paperbound files. Finally he extracted a large folder tied with ribbons and

marked "Tabilan."

"Here it is," he said drooling slightly out of the corner of his mouth. "Do you

want to sit down at that table and look through the file? Of course, nothing can

be checked out. You will have to keep it all here, but I can make copies for you

of anything of interest." He handed Brooke the heavy file and pointed at a small

table in the far corner of the room. Then he sat back down and resumed his

snipping and clipping.

Brooke, embarrassed at herself for not being able to ask the question she

wanted, sat down and untied the huge folder. As the contents spilled forth into

her hands and onto the table, she became aware that she was drinking from afire hose. There was too much information on the school and the buildings

themselves for her to digest in one brief visit. And nothing was arranged

chronologically. Brooke flipped through the documents, which mostly amounted

to articles about the comings and goings of principals and teachers from about

1920 onwards until she came to some more recent articles dating from the early

80s. She skimmed a few of these to see if there were some names she

remembered. There were none. Then she came on a much later article dated in

1985. It was about the closing of the school for "health and safety" reasons.

The mayor of Aristock had been at the closing, some big fat guy squeezed into

an outdated waistcoat. He was quoted as saying it "was well nigh time to close

the place" even though he himself had once attended the school and "would

miss it." So far Brooke was discovering really nothing about the school, but then

she extracted a group of letters still in envelopes held together by decomposing

rubber bands which snapped apart as she held them. The stamps on the letters

dated from at least the 1920s to the 80s and most were handwritten and

addressed to various clerks or librarians at the Historical Society. Some were so

old they didn't even have zip codes, and others, predating these did not evenhave street addresses. In all, there may have been fifty private-looking letters

addressed to the Aristock Historical Society. A lot of people had apparently been

writing for information on Tabilan. Brooke extracted a letter from an envelope

which bore a wartime stamp, unfolded it and started to read. In a neat

penmanship was written "Dear Mrs. Cecilia Borlick." Many of the other letters

were addressed to Cecilia Borlick as well. Brooke realized that Cassandrea must

have inherited her job directly from her grandmother, who, ostensibly, had been

the town historian for as far back as anyone could remember. But then the

shock came. The letter was virtually unreadable. It's first sentence was clear

enough: "I am writing to inquire about some of the recent happenings at Tabilan

Elementary School" but nearly every phrase after that had been blacked out as

if the document was some sort of top secret memo that had been censored.

Brooke examined several more letters and found the same censorship.

Blackened out sentences abounded in each of them, and the signatures were

likewise obscured. Someone had taken a very long time to edit out anything of

substance in these letters, but still they were saved. Why? At this moment thekid looked up from his desk and asked if she was finding what she wanted.

"We're closing in a half hour," he said, still scanning her breasts.

Brooke replaced the letters innocently as if she had discovered nothing. The

final sheaf of papers in the folder however contained exactly what she wanted to

see. It was a collection of class pictures taken each year since 1918 up to the

closing of the school in 1985, one year after she had transferred to middleschool. Her own group picture from 1984 lay on top of the pile. And there she

was, pretty and wiry-looking at ten. Lost in a sea of normal looking kids. Near

the top of the photo the face of one child had been blurred out again with a black

marker. Who in the hell was that, and why did they black out his or her face?

Flipping through the various class years, Brooke found more and more of the

same phenomena: faces blackened out. The farther back she went, the more

faces had been obscured. Brooke calculated that she would have started the first

grade in 1980. She found the class photo for that year and identified herself

peering out from between the shoulders of two much larger and more ominous-

looking girls. There were five black scratches across the picture. Five missing

children. Brooke also noted that there were no black children in any of the

pictures. Was it the black kids who had been blurred away? Puzzled now

beyond belief, she replaced the contents of the folder as neatly as she could,

retied the ribbons, stood up and handed it to the young man at the desk. By

design, she bent over showing him much more cleavage and breast than he was

expecting and smiled pleasantly into his eyes.

"Have you worked here long?" she asked in as seductive a voice as she could

marshal.

"This is my first year," the boy stammered, overcome by Brooke's more than

ample chest.

"What does it take to get a job like this? I mean what do you have to know?"

"I majored in history at Pioneer State. There aren't many choices."

"Well then, you must have learned something about Aristock," Brooke said.

"You must have some personal knowledge from the time you have spent here."

"You'll have to ask Miss Borlick for that. She runs the show. She is the one who

assists the researchers and so on."

Brooke put her hand on the boy's bony shoulder. "But I'm asking you. I guess

you must be a lot cuter than Miss Borlick. I wish you could help me."

The boy's face turned bright red, again accentuating the clusters of post-

adolescent pimples that spread like craters across his skin.

"I...I'm not supposed to...."

"Where is she, anyway? Your Miss Borlick? I haven't seen her this afternoon."

"She is at a librarians' convention in Carlyle. She won't be back until tomorrow.

You can come then."

"But I need information now."

"We..we..we're closing in five minutes..."

"All the better. I can buy you a drink and tell you what I'm looking for. I don't

have time to go through all this...this junk."

The boy gulped audibly. He sat straight up and found the nerve to agree to meet

Brooke in a small café just down the block. Brooke told him not to be late and

winked an eye.

VI. Blair Lashton

As soon as Brooke Nescott got outside of the musty historical society, she

pulled out her phone and called Jared, telling him to get something to eat and

that she would be a little late. Jared, always mature, seemed enthusiastic.

"What does he look like?" he chirped. "I hope he likes to play Cosmonauts and

Invaders." Jared wanted nothing more than for his mother to find a boyfriend,

and especially a boyfriend he could relate to. Brooke chuckled to herself

thinking of the young man she was about to meet. "I don't think you would like

this one," she laughed into the phone. "Don't hold your breath, and by all

means, please do wait up for me because this is going to be a short one."

Realizing what she had just said, Brooke chuckled again and said "I really didn't

mean what I just said. I hope you know that." Jared laughed back and said that

he did.

Then Brooke fumbled with her address book and found Caprice Stevens'

number. She hoped the friendly nurse would answer, and she did. Brooke held

nothing back. There was something strange about Aristock, about her old

school. There was something being blacked out of the history, something

people were not supposed to read. "There was not one black face in those

school pictures," she said. "And I remember some black kids here and there

when I was about six or seven. They are not in the pictures. Or at least their

faces don't show. Caprice, do you want to work with me to find out about thismystery? If you don't, I'll understand. There's something about me....and about

Rialto that I need to tell you and as soon as possible. We need to meet. Can you

come to my place tonight? Can you bring Rialto? Can you come around

seven?"

"That's pretty late," said Caprice in a mulling it over tone.

"I think it's pretty important. Right now you're my only friend and the only one I

can trust."

"We got to friendship pretty fast," said Caprice.

"Life is too short for a long dance around. Just tell me you can come over.

Please. I have some news to share."

At length Caprice agreed to drive by Brooke's at seven thirty. "But don't let the

boys get started on that damned game," she said. "They'll keep us there allnight, and we have to work tomorrow...or at least I do."

By the time Brooke was signing off with Caprice she noted a spindly, bandy

legged boy aiming straight for her table on the café terrace alongside the

sidewalk. He sat down, panting like a wet puppy, flabbergasted that an older

woman, and such a eye-catching one, had requested his company. He had had

precious few dates in his life and was at his core quite petrified of women. But

Brooke and her open cleavage was reeling him in like a sardine to a cracker. He

plumped down in the chair across from her and raised a faux-confident hand to

summon a waiter who had hardly taken notice of his arrival. "Two whiskey

sours," he commanded in a bravado voice. "Yes, sir!!" the waiter answered

mockingly. "Right away, your excellence! Coming right up. Say, are you old

enough to drink? Show me your ID." Deflated, the boy pulled out his license

and poked his finger at his birth date. "See 1987!! I'm 23." The waiter verified

the dates and went off to get the drinks.

Brooke amused by the clumsiness of the boy's public self, smiled and said

"Why, how did you know that I drink whiskey sours? You must read minds."

"I can sometimes. My little sister says..."

"Let's forget your little sister for right now if you don't mind," said Brooke, taking

the boy's hands into hers and cutting him off. "Let's start with your name."

"Blair Lashton. I'm from Tillamook. I graduated from Pioneer State last year, and

this is the first job I have had. It's not easy with Miss Borlick in the room either.

She rarely lets me look at files and never lets me give out information on the

phone. She saves all that fun stuff for herself. Her grandmother founded the

society back before any of us were born. She literally runs the town. Comes

from a banking family. They say she owns the deeds on 90% of the land within

the city limits. No one messes with Miss Borlick"

"You poor thing," said Brooke teasingly, "a cute guy like you stuck in a back

room with an old biddy like that in Aristock of all places."

"Miss Borlick isn't all that old, but she sure is a biddy. Seems like I can't do

anything right."

"Well, you're my choice of helper. I once knew Miss Borlick. We went to school

together, and, believe me, that was enough. Can you just avoid her and do a

little research for me? I'll make it worth your while."

Blair Lashton straightened up in his seat. A beautiful older woman needed his

services. No one had ever needed him before. He was filled a new sense of

determination and pride. "I'll do anything for you," he stuttered. "Anything."

Brooke took a sip of her whiskey sour and pushed it away. She hated sweet

drinks but did not complain because she wanted to make Blair seem as

important as she needed him to be in order to achieve her ends. Blair,

characteristically, gulped his drink down and snapped his fingers for another.

The waiter, still mocking him, did a kind of pirouette and snapped his own

fingers in the air several times in succession, twirling like a toreador.

Then Brooke got down to business. She explained her interest in both Tabilan

School and the sparse black population of the city. Blair seemed disappointed.

It was as if he was expecting some item of high adventure or real intrigue from

this curvaceous and seductive woman sitting across the table from him.

Something to do with hidden treasure or pirates' gold or glistering rubies torn

from the skulls of slithering serpents. He continued to gape at Brooke's plentiful

chest as Brooke fanned herself and complained of the August heat. Fortunately

for Brooke, she was wearing the top of her red swimsuit instead of a standard

bra. All around her were young women in one piece tops or risqué camisoles.

She needed to make the most of the moment. "Do you mind if I take off my

shirt?" she asked Blair. "It's really getting hot this afternoon."

Blair's eyes ballooned out of his head and his cheeks swelled to the point of him

spraying some whiskey sour out onto the table between the two. "No!!" he

almost screamed. "I mean no, take it off if you want."

Brooke stood up and slowly pulled her light jersey off from the bottom up, not

only revealing her flat stomach and well formed navel but her strikingly red

halter top. The waiter sashayed by and gave her a slight whistle. She snarled at

him with faked contempt. Blair was transfixed. This was probably as close as

he had ever been to seeing a woman's breasts, and he could not take his eyes

off them.

"I need you to do that research....for me," cooed Brooke. "You'll be my bestesthero ever. You will, won't you?" A quick wave of embarrassment washed over

Brooke as she said the word "bestest." She wondered if she were going too far.

It turned out that she wasn't. Babytalk was working.

The meeting finished when Blair became so agitated that he knocked his third

drink off the table, spilling some of it into his crotch. He hobbled away shaking

hands again and again with Brooke, promising to find something out about the

black population of Aristock and Tabilan School as well. "I'm a good historian,"

he babbled, trying to hide the damp stain on his khaki pants. "If Miss Borlickdoesn't catch me, I'll have some news for you tomorrow. Of course, I can't go

into the movie cabinet. Only she has the key to that. It's off limits."

"Movie cabinet?" said Brooke lifting an eyebrow.

"Sixteen millimeter movies mostly. Historical photography. I don't even know

how to run one of those projectors."

"I do," said Brooke solemnly, "I mean if you ever get into that cabinet."

"I'll do the best I can." Blair pranced off down the sidewalk. It was more than

probable that he was right then returning on his mission to the closed library.

He had a key. Brooke was sure of it.

The waiter came by and dropped the tab in front of Brooke in a neat little plastic

tray. "The miracles of seduction," he said with a crude irony. "Makes me happy

I'm gay." Brooke dropped some bills in the tray, got up, pretended not to notice

and left.

VII. Caprice and Rialto arrive

It was almost totally dark when Caprice drove her Ford Focus into Brooke's

carport and released her son to run without a word to Brooke into Jared's room.

In minutes, the electronically explosive sounds of the video war game began

reverberating through the walls.

Caprice, still wearing her floral nurse's frock, plopped down in a living room

chair. "I'll take a drink," she said without preamble. "If we're going to be friends,

we can skip introductions and the tour of the house. You've seen one house,

you've seen them all. This chair is what I'm looking for right now."

Brooke mixed two rum and cokes and gave one to Caprice and settled down in

the opposite chair. "I feel great," she said. "I feel like I have stumbled onto a

mystery, and I want to solve it. It is probably none of my business, either. But

that makes it more fun. Nothing ever happens in Aristock, and now something

finally has."

Caprice listened patiently as Brooke gave a hurried sketch of her life: Justine,

the future world, Adrian Albritton, and, of course, the thunder and glory of

Dragonsnort, and then Joel and the dream world. Brooke was able to condense

her life's main events into a very short but inspired narrative. "Believe what you

want about me," she concluded, "but here is what I want you to know. I have

always been bored stiff. I have never really felt much about anything in life,

except with Dragonsnort, and now he is gone. I need something to latch onto. A

challenge. A mystery. It makes me feel real again. Jared got this whole thing

started when he asked me why there are so few blacks in Aristock, and that got

me thinking about my school. I knew there were some there when I was little."

Caprice lit a long brown cigarette, exhaled straight up into the air, and regained

her patiently listening face. Brooke went on to detail for her the day's visit to the

historical society, the blackened photos, the censored letters. "They are hiding

something," she concluded. She looked at Caprice for a reaction.

Caprice was silent for a minute, then she burst forth: "So Honey, here you are

with the only black friend in your whole life trying to escape your boredom by

tracking down some cocked-up atrocity committed against black folks around

here, digging up some dirt that you probably think will impress me, finding somekind of racism in practice that doesn't surprise people like me in the slightest

anyway. Do you expect me to jump up and start crusading with you? Do you

want me to carry a sign through the town hall reading "What have you done to

my people?" Do you expect me to call my "special" contact at the NAACP

because all us black folk are supposed to have one? This is a lot of shit. It may

interest you, but I'm not buying into it. Nobody bothers me or Rialto here. I told

you that. And that other little black sister in Jared's class, Brandy, I know her

mother from school meetings. She told me the same thing. I really don't care

how many of us live here. It's the way we live that counts. I like the medical

center and my job. I like my house. I like my neighbors. Rialto likes his school

and his teachers. Rialto likes Jared. We are all happy, and here you go trying to

start something....and because...because you are bored. I ain't buying it."

Brooke was shocked by the directness of Caprice's words. Of course, she had

been stereotyping. She had been acting totally white. She felt embarrassed and

small. Even if there were some kind of vast conspiracy, why should she have

tried to drag someone like Caprice into it. Tears came to her eyes. Brooke cried

very infrequently, and when she did, she did her best to hide it. She was not the

crying type. But now her eyes were moist enough to melt some sudden

kindness out of Caprice, who put an arm around her and said "Don't worry. Let's

have another drink and let our sons be friends. Let's have lunch often. Let's

shop together or whatever else it is that you like to do. But let's not go looking

for trouble where there is none. Especially racial trouble."

Brooke allowed herself to cry a little more openly. Caprice's embrace was

almost motherly, although the two women were about the same age. "There's

more," she blurted suddenly. And then she calmly described her own

inexplicable terror on seeing Rialto playing with the other boys in the yard.

Caprice took it all in and said "Hmmmm." In effect, "Hmmmm" was all she said

anymore that night. It could have meant a lot of different things. Brooke hoped

that it meant that Caprice was thinking, wondering, pondering. But she realized

at length that the hmmmm could have just been a means of dismissing thesubject.

The next day at work, the two women passed each other on the entry sidewalk

without saying much more than good morning. There was no mention of lunch.

VIII. Blair Lashton's research

Blair Lashton carried his wobbly frame with a greater sense of pride when hemet Brooke Nescott that afternoon at the same sidewalk café they had spoken in

the day before. The same waiter automatically served them whiskey sours

without waiting for an order. The waiter seemed very dry and professional.

Brooke rapidly realized that she had left him an gargantuan tip the previous day.

Blair was bulging with bits and pieces of information, but the thing he was most

proud of was that he had been able to look through city archives and other

folders right under the nose of the "tyrannical" Cassandrea Borlick. At one

point, Blair exclaimed "She's a tigress!" This made his research an even bolder

move, something he knew Brooke would appreciate. Brooke wondered whether

the young man would start bartering his news for sex. After all, she had all but

promised it to him for a job well done. She was not sure she could fulfill that

part of whatever understanding they had. Blair was definitely too young and not

at all her type.

But Blair seemed more subdued. He explained a few facts about Tabilan Schoolto Brooke. First of all, Tabilan had not always been an elementary school. Its

first buildings had been erected to house a sort of academy back around the turn

of the century. It was a "Negro" academy, Blair explained . He went on to make

clear that they had those sort of places even in the North in those days. Aristock

had been settled in the early Nineteenth Century by a colony of peace-loving

Abolitionist Quakers. The early settlers were known to have aided in helping

slaves escape from the South, and Aristock had been one of the many stops on

the Underground Railway. The Quakers felt it was their obligation to take care of

the runaway slaves who fell into their jurisdiction, so they gave them farm and

domestic jobs and sectioned off parts of town for them to live in. It was, in

effect, de facto segregation, but it was done with a true sympathy toward a race

which the Quakers felt had been prevented from evolving into their true

potential. Some early town father named Nathan Tabilan decided to contribute a

part of his fortune to build an academy for the descendants of the escaped

slaves. Thus Aristock had indeed had a small but viable black population at one

point, and the streets and farms around the site of Tabilan Elementary seemed to

be the focal point of this community. All in all, Aristock seemed to have been avery safe haven both before and after the Civil War for African-Americans. There

were no open records of racial strife, no riots, no lynchings, no fights. The

blacks of Aristock just kept to themselves, did business with the whites, worked

and minded their own business.

"Then around 1919-1920," Blair continued, "the history seems to get a little more

cloudy. It has to do with a wayward preacher of some kind who came out to

Aristock from the east somewhere. He was some kind of islander, a jet black

man who took over the Mount Nebo Baptist Church and transformed its black

congregation into something that really spooked out the locals, both black and

white. His name was Suleman and his religion was something like the worship

of devils and demons and such. They used the claws of chickens to decorate

their windows, drank blood straight from a live calf's throat, played weird drum

music and prayed to strange gods. Naturally, the local whites were disturbed, but

this Suleman never seemed to pay much attention to them. His goal according

to the few notations of it that I could find was to control the black population andmake it do his bidding. He did this with something called 'leather birds'. The

records are scant, mostly old newspaper clippings, and they never say exactly

what a leather bird was. But Suleman used them to plant fear among the black

residents. There are several scribbled notations of leather birds."

"What about the documents, the letters with all that black-out?" asked Brooke.

"I haven't gotten to that yet, but I will. What I learned is that Suleman made some

kind of deal with the whites. I mean the big names...like Borlick, just to mentionone. Old Cecelia Borlick was Cassandrea's grandmother and she ran the

historical society for at least forty years. She had first say on what was kept and

what was discarded. If I have my guess, it was she who did the censorship on

those letters. The only facts I can gather is that little by little the black

community of Aristock started disappearing. They probably moved away. There

is no record of any killings or anything. Of course, there wouldn't be, would

there?"

"I suppose not," said Brooke pensively. "That would have been a hard thing tokeep hidden no matter how much black ink-out was used."

"Well, whatever it was, the Negro Academy was closed for lack of attendance in

1919, and the city turned it into a public school. White families started building

houses where blacks had once had small farms, and voila you get Old Town and

Tabilan Elementary. I'll know more after tomorrow. I want to see what exactly is

in that movie cabinet. I may even slip out a reel or two for us to view. In private,

of course."

Brooke squeezed Blair's hand across the table. She rolled her eyes approvingly

across his pimply face. She wanted to keep him hot on the trail, but the things

he had told her so far amounted to very little. Some kind of West Indian voodoo

churchman and then vanishing black folk. There had to be much more to the

mystery. The leather bird thing seemed intriguing. Blair could probably find out

about it for her. She paid the tab as she had the day before and set a date with

Blair for the next day, same place. The boy needed encouragement. Brooke

bent over the table and kissed his forehead. God, I'm turning into a whore, she

thought, but I need to get to the bottom of this. As the lad walked away, red

faced, it occurred to Brooke that she was no doubt doing him an injustice.

Maybe she would have to reward him in the end after all. Maybe not. Time

would tell.

IX. An unexpected turn of events

When she arrived at home that night, she found both Jared and Rialto sitting

side by side on the porch swing. Both boys looked sad and dejected. Jared's

arm was around Rialto's shoulder. Jared looked up at his mother, and Brooke

could see that he had tears in his eyes. Rialto continued to look at his feet. "My

best friend," blurted Jared, "and he's leaving."

It was true. Rialto was crying too, but he said that his mother wanted him to

spend the rest of the summer vacation with his cousin Jordan in Florida. She

had also said that she was applying for a transfer to another hospital near

Jacksonville. Nurses could, she had told Rialto, get a job anywhere, and

suddenly Caprice wanted to move. Brooke wondered how much her recent

inquiry had influenced this decision. What exactly did Caprice's parting hmmm

mean anyway? Had Brooke raked up some smoldering coals that should have

been left unstirred? She wondered what she would say to Caprice the next time

they passed at the hospital. No doubt Caprice would have little to say. As things

developed, this was far from the truth.

Rialto dried his tears and hugged both Jared and Brooke again. As he started

off toward home, he looked over shoulder and said "I hope I'll be coming back

someday." But both Brooke and Jared somehow knew implicitly that he never

would.

At dinner that night, Jared became less gloomy and asked his mother if she had

ever found out why so few blacks lived in Aristock. Brooke, characteristically

frank with her son, said that she was working on the matter and that she might

even have an answer soon. Jared stared at the uneaten food in his plate and

muttered something barely audible. When Brooke asked him to repeat it he

looked up and said "leather birds."

Brooke was stunned. That was the same expression Blair had used in

explaining how some scary black shaman named Suleman had once controlled

the small black population of Aristock. "What on Earth are leather birds?" she

asked. Jared shrugged his shoulders and said that Rialto didn't know either butthat was what his mother was worried about. Brooke realized that she would

need to contact Caprice again, regardless of the latter's unsympathetic attitude.

X. Blair gets back in contact

Blair Lashton called Brooke Nescott at her job in the middle of the next day. He

sounded winded and somewhat panicky. "Cassandrea Borlick may be onto me,"

he said with genuine fear in his voice. "I'm not sure. But I don't want to meet

you at that same café today. I want to wait a couple of days and see what

Cassandrea is up to. There may be more to this than just losing my job.

Cassandrea is...well...dangerous."

Brooke asked him if he had learned any more about the leather birds, and Blair

replied that he had not but that he had gained access to the forbidden movie

cabinet during Cassandrea's lunch break. Cassandrea apparently had left the

key in her top desk drawer, and Blair had found the temerity to look inside the

cabinet. He explained that most of the films in there dated from the 1960s and

70s and were on 16 millimeter reels. From the looks of the labels on them, they

were mostly films taken to chronicle the expansion and growth of Aristock over

the period, local documentaries. Construction of a bridge. Demolition of a

building. Dedication of a park. "But," he added in a hushed tone, "I saw one

very small reel pushed back in the corner. The label on it says Tabilan. I

supposed you'd be interested, so I took it. I hid it in my brief case. I'm going to

put it in a big mailing envelope and drop it off for you at the clinic this afternoon.

As for meeting again, let's put that off for a few days."

Brooke thanked him and asked him to call her as soon as he could. She was

eager to see what was on the reel, but like most people in 2010, she lacked a

16mm projector. That was something she would have to find on the way home.

At about three PM, there was a loud knock on her laboratory door. When she

opened it, there stood Caprice, wide-eyed and with an expression of sheer horror

on her face. Brooke started to speak, but Caprice cut her off. "We need to talk,"

she said. "When and where can we meet?" Brooke was staggered. She hadexpected anger and resentment. Instead she got a sense of total panic.

Something had truly shaken Caprice to the bone. "Come by my house around

six," she said. And then she added hastily "Let's not talk here or anywhere else

in public." Caprice shook her head in agreement, and, without uttering another

word turned and walked briskly down the clinic corridor back toward the main

hospital.

At five o'clock, Brooke closed down her station and left the laboratory. She went

down to the main desk and asked the receptionist if there was any mail or packages left for her. The receptionist told her that "strangely enough" there

was a big envelope, and "it was delivered by a kid on a bike." She handed

Brooke a stiff mailing envelope which had been taped over several times and

marked confidential. Blair certainly knew how to arouse suspicion. It amused

Brooke that Blair went about on a bicycle. He really is a kid, she thought.

As she was driving home, she switched on the radio for some local news. It was

just a habit. Mostly she wanted to know about traffic, but a news bulletin

interrupted the usual reports. Union Parkway had been shut down in both

directions because the police were investigating a hit and run killing that had

occurred around four PM. A young man on a bicycle had been struck down by a

speeding motorist. The young man was dead, and although there were several

witnesses, none had managed to get the license plate of the driver's vehicle.

Brooke head swam with fear. Somehow she knew it was Blair, and before getting

home, her suspicions were confirmed. A further news bulletin identified him asone Blair Lashton, a city historical society clerk. Dumbstruck, Brooke pulled her

car to the side of the street. She knew it had not been a random accident. And

she knew that she had no doubt been the cause of the kid's death. That was

more guilt than Brooke was prepared to bear at the moment. She felt like

opening the window and screaming as loud as possible. She felt like running.

She felt like banging her head against the dashboard. What would Dragonsnort

have done in such a circumstance? At that moment of her greatest anxiety, she

needed the strength of Dragonsnort. Beside her on the car seat was the package

Blair had left, but her utter sense of revulsion caused her to briefly forget it. She

needed to get home to Jared, hug him, run away with him, try to forget. What

chamber of horrors had she opened? She throttled the car as fast as the traffic

would allow and reached her front doorstep covered with sweat and panting in

apprehension. She could hear the television inside and assumed that Jared was

watching it. Entering her house she noticed the huge claw of what she assumed

to be a turkey lying just outside the doorway. Leather birds, she thought,

dashing over it and into the living room. Jared was curled in front of the

television. A reporter was on the scene of a appalling accident. A young manhad been clipped by a speeding car which had not stopped at the scene. A

manhunt was underway. The police had no leads. Jared looked up at his frayed

mother. "You know about this, don't you?" he said calmly. Brooke shook her

head and walked into the kitchen without answering. She needed a drink.

XI. Caprice arrives

Caprice was filled with rage from the moment she entered Brooke's house until

the moment she finally left but the anger was not directed at Brooke. Instead, it

was a kind of seething resentment against the stupidity of "some" black people.

Caprice was motivated enough to ask Jared to please allow her and his mother

to talk privately. She obviously did not know how advanced the boy was or how

open Brooke had always been with him. Nor did she care. Caprice hurriedly

explained to Brooke that she wanted Rialto out of town for his own safety.

Because of Brooke's account, she had taken a quick trip to her old

neighborhood in Philadelphia and called on her aging Aunt Begaya, who wasbedridden on a filthy mattress surrounded by burning candles and various

rotting and stinking animal parts, which were arranged in an unsettling

symmetrical pattern around her bed. It was all part of what Begaya and her

strange relations called "the old religion." "It is all about worshipping animal

parts," said Caprice. "They pray to the severed head of a pig, for example, and

wave chicken claws at one another." Brooke remembered the chicken claw that

had greeted her at the door when she got home. Caprice continued: "Begaya

didn't want to talk but she finally told me that when she was a little girl, whichmust have been a hundred years ago, they sent one of their own voodoo priests

out to a church here. It was part of an established community of black folks, the

descendants of slaves, I suppose. His aim was to take over the community by

terror. When the people resisted him, he used some sort of invocative power

that he had brought with him to put a curse on their children. According to

Begaya, it was real too. This guy wanted to punish all the black folks for not

obeying his every whim, so he brought something out of the skies that would

swoop down and pluck their children up, something like a huge bird...more than

one actually. The priest knew how to summon them because they were somesort of ancient creatures that inhabited the foothills in this part of the state.

Begaya called them "dinosaur birds." One after another account came back to

Begaya about these birds singling out black kids and grabbing them up with

their long, sharp beaks. Once the kids were gone, they were never seen again,

although the people here did occasionally find bones, so Begaya supposes that

these dinosaur birds ate them as prey. They only attacked children. Black

children. Maybe the adults were too big."

Brooke remembered the business about "leather birds" that Blair had told her.

She also began to remember something else...a kind of fear of things coming

from the sky that she had repressed since early childhood.

Caprice went on to say that whatever it was that the voodoo priest called down

from the skies was still said to be here. For some reason, these birds seemed to

prefer only black children, it was part of the curse, and there were reports

ranging over many years of a mighty bird suddenly sweeping down from the sky

and grabbing an unprotected child outside. It had supposedly happened long

after both the voodoo priest and the majority of black folk had disappeared from

Aristock, and, according to Begaya, it still could happen today. The birds were

programmed, it seemed, to kill black kids if they caught them outside. The priest

also wielded the power of mind control and was able to make most people forget

what they had seen.

Brooke shook her head in disbelief. Was that the reason she had feared seeingRialto outside playing with Jared and Tony?

For an hour or two, the two women sat trading suppositions and guesses.

Brooke remembered the severed chicken claw and went out and brought it into

the house. "Someone is trying to tell you something," said Caprice. "I'm sure of

Brooke told Caprice about Blair and the information he had gathered. She also

told Caprice about his sudden death.

A little later, Jared wandered into the room wearing his pajamas. He announced

that he was going to bed and hugged both his mother and Caprice. He seemed

very afraid. "I miss Rialto" were his parting words.

"The boy died for a movie," said Caprice after Jared was gone. "By all that's

holy..."

"Wait!" shouted Brooke. "The movie. It is still in the car. Do you know where we

can find a 16mm projector at this hour? Do you know how to use one?"

"I think I could still string the film through," said Caprice. " But I don't even know

where or if we can rent one. They definitely don't make them anymore. That's

old fogey stuff..."

Brooke thought deeply and then snapped her fingers. "So we'll ask an old

fogey," she said. "My neighbors. They have been all around the world several

times. They've invited me to see their travel films on more than one occasion.

Both are in their eighties, and there is nothing modern in their house. She still

uses a mixmaster, and he has gadgets that look like war surplus. I bet they have

a projector."

Although it was nearing eleven o'clock, Brooke ran next door, knocked, was

admitted and came back grinning. The Vorschwitzes had a perfectly good 16mm

projector, and they were more than willing to lend it to her. They even offered to

come over and help her string the film in, something Brooke declined becauseshe had no idea of what was on the reel and didn't want to involve anyone

further.

By the time Brooke and Caprice had the projector set up and ready to run, it was

nearly midnight. Brooke pulled all the curtains and took a deep breath. "There

is probably not going to be much of anything at all," she said almost hopefully.

"It's more than likely just a documentary about closing Tabilan."

"Not if it was closed in 1985," said Caprice. "They had stopped using 16mm by

then."

"Well, let's see," said Brooke taking a big swallow of her whiskey drink. "Let's

Caprice threw the switch, and against the wall of Brooke's living room some

grainy images began flickering and jerking. The film was in poor quality and

blotched with imperfections. It had been obviously taken outside of Tabilan

Elementary School on a cloudy day, which made the people in it even harder to

recognize. Whoever had shot the footage began by photographing the school's

sign in front and then proceeded to shoot the entire building from side to side

until he finally arrived at the playground behind. The playground was full of

children. These were quite obviously children either of the late 1950s or early

60s, judging by their hair styles and mode of dress. Around the playground they

ran and screamed and frolicked while a group of professionally dressed teachers

looked on. One of the teachers was smoking, which would have been forbidden

by the eighties, but teachers of an earlier period had done it. The footageseemed totally routine and unprofessional until all at once the camera appeared

to have been dropped to the ground. There was no sound, so it was impossible

to tell what had happened, but when the photographer picked it up again, he

must have been running. The flickering frames brightened considerably too,

indicating that the sun had come out. Then the scene was totally of the children,

a group of perhaps twenty of them, all standing frozen in place around the

playground, all totally immobile. Their heads were turned upward to the sky.

Not one of them moved. Some of these children were black too. That wasevident from the film. What possibly could have made all these children stop

moving and search the sky? The film never showed this. The camera angle

suddenly went above the children's heads and swept across the sky. The grainy

quality of the film did not reveal anything, but something was holding these

children---and the unseen cameraman---in thrall. Abruptly there was total chaos,

the children scattered this way and that and the camera was once again dropped

on the ground. It continued to record, but all one saw were running feet until the

film sputtered to an unexpected end and the wall went blank. The film whipped

around on the bottom reel like a lash.

Then Brooke remembered. A trancelike state descended over her mind, and she

failed to hear Caprice talking to her. A long-subdued memory moved like a huge

iceberg across her mind. The Tabilan playground. Her class out for recess.

The warning screams. One classmate pointing to the sky. Everyone else

motionless in place. Heads turned upward just like the children in the film. Then

shock. It was huge and shiny and made a dry rustling sound with its outspread

wings. It had pivoting orange eyes and visibly jagged teeth in its extended beak.

It screeched like an iron door on a rusty hinge. It plunged downward, swooping

toward the crowd. The children scattered, taking cover inside and near the brick

school building. When it was over, one was missing. Everyone was warned by

stern adult voices not to talk about it. The missing one, who was he? Yes, Evan,

little Evan. Then Brooke saw his face. Little Evan was black. And she recalled

now clearly that the last time she had seen his tortured face he was being torn

upward in the beak of a huge birdlike thing that resembled for all the world a

prehistoric beast, a dinosaur, a leathery dinosaur. The children were told in nouncertain terms that what they had witnessed was not real. They were told to

forget it. And most did. Brooke did. Undoubtedly some still remembered. But

they said nothing. It was too unreal. A classmate carried off by a huge flying

creature, a classmate who never returned and never was spoken of again. How

many times in the past had this happened, and how many times had it been

somehow suppressed by the staff at Tabilan? Who was exerting this sort of

general mind control?

The memory blazed in technicolor through Brooke's mind. All these years she

had buried it, but the grainy film, which undoubtedly chronicled a like event, had

released the locks of memory.

Brooke babbled it all out to Caprice. Caprice was scared and spent the rest

night sleeping on Brooke's couch. She was relieved that Rialto was away from

Aristock. Brooke was thankful too. She knew that come the next day, she would

have to tell Jared everything, but that was something she did not mention to

Caprice. She would withhold nothing from her son. She never had.

The next day both Caprice and Brooke made excuses and stayed home from

their jobs. Caprice returned to her own house and began the hasty packing

process. She could find a job anywhere and was going to leave Aristock as

soon as possible. This resolution was above discussion. "I may not even have

time to say goodbye," she told Brooke. "I'm out of here. Now."

Brooke was not so lucky. Her own job was not as available as Caprice's.

Besides, she had longer roots in Aristock. What would Dragonsnort have done?

Would he have run away? Brooke knew the answer. It was clearly no.

Dragonsnort would have stayed and fought.

About ten that morning Brooke, while Jared was playing his interminable war

games in his room, heard a knock at the door. Weary and beaten down by the

weight of her now clear memory and the fear that it would happen again, she

glanced at the door and knew instinctively who it was. And she was right.

Unsightly as ever, Cassandrea stood on the doorstep and held out her hand. "I

believe you have something that belongs to the city archives" was all she said,

and that was delivered in a bland, rasping voice. Then almost as an afterthought

she added "Some things are best not known. I think you could say that whatever

happened in Aristock needs to stay in Aristock, or whatever the old saying is."

Brooke retrieved the metal reel from the projector and placed it in Cassandrea's

hands. She knew without asking that that Cassandrea would continue in her

own family's tradition to keep unbelievable secrets away from the eyes of a

prying world. It was no doubt Cassandrea who controlled the leather birds now.

She had inherited more than just the historical society. She had inherited the

power to invoke the unspeakable and to make people forget about it afterwards.

As Blair had said, she was dangerous. How many had she killed? And for what

reason? Brooke wondered during the rest of the day whether she could live in a

town where a woman like Cassandrea could wield such unnatural power. How

safe would she and Jared be now? Unconsciously, she began making mentalplans to move away. A sense of protective urgency welled up in her chest.

XII. Conclusion

Caprice's phone call was brief and hurried. "Keep Jared indoors for a few days,"

she said. "It's Cassandrea. She gained control of the old priest's secrets. She

can summon the birds. That’s known in my aunt’s so-called church. She’s used

the power more than once over the years. I'm sure she'll want you out of the way

"I know," said Brooke. "I'm leaving town as soon as I can."

"I don't think you will need to. I talked to Begaya. She is not dead yet. She sent

someone."

"Who?"

"Just someone. Stay low and watch the news."

That was all Caprice ever said, and, sadly, it was the last that Brooke would ever

hear from her. But Caprice’s words had not been in vain. Two days later, a host

of blue police lights were flashing in the parking lot outside of the library branch

that housed the Aristock Historical Society. Police with flashlights were

searching the ground. Ribbons had been put up to cordon off the entire lot. A

curious crowd gathered. Brooke parked her car and got out to see what thecommotion was. Her sense of guilt over the death of Blair Lashton was almost

unbearable, but it was trumped by her pounding fear for the safety of her son,

whom she had confined, for once without giving a precise reason, indoors.

Some serious looking reporters stood behind the police lines. Brooke timidly

inquired what was going on.

"Dunno," said one reporter. "The police think it was a pack of wild dogs or

maybe wolves. They are not ruling out coyotes either. It’s pretty gruesome.

Under that blanket is Miss Borlick, the library historian. You would not want tosee what is left of her. She's been torn to shreds. There are not going to be a lot

of pieces to bury. Whatever did that to the poor lady must have been a monster

or monsters from hell."

"Leather birds," said Brooke quietly.

"What?" said the reporter. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," said Brooke, and she turned and walked away.

____________________

Devon Pitlor - - June, 2010

Leather Birds by Devon Pitlor

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