A Short Story by Jack King

Young Nappy Birdman knew he was in trouble – big trouble. He’d finished almost half his three-liter canteen of water on the eight-mile hike out to the canyon, and now the other half was gone. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. Just one minute ago, he’d taken a drink of water, and with canteen still in hand he’d noticed what looked like the tip of an arrowhead sticking out of the dirt near his left foot. Kneeling down, he’d set the canteen on a rock with the cap off, and it must have gotten turned over while he was digging the arrowhead out of the ground with his pocketknife. The canteen was now completely empty, the sun was directly overhead, and he would have to retrace his steps over eight miles of desert to get back to town. In this heat, he’d never make it.

Only one thing to do: climb down into the dry canyon, find a shady spot under a ledge, and wait quietly for late evening. Maybe, just maybe, he could hike eight miles without water in the cool of a moonlit night.

The canyon was about forty feet deep, and he found a place where the wall sloped enough that he was able to make it to the bottom without too much difficulty. He found some deep shade under a horizontal ledge that protruded from the canyon wall on the opposite side, and he stretched himself out on the ground beneath it. He tried to go to sleep, but his mouth was getting drier by the minute and his lips felt like they were already starting to crack. He hoped to conserve moisture and energy by dozing off till dark, but he just couldn’t make himself relax.

He’d come here many times to enjoy the serene beauty of this timeless place, and even with this sharp dread in his heart he was still awed by the silent wonder around him.

He’d been lying under the ledge for a little more than an hour when he saw something approaching from about half a mile up the canyon. He couldn’t tell what it was but it seemed to be moving smoothly in his direction at maybe five or six miles an hour. As it got closer Nappy could make out that it was roughly cube-shaped and seemed not to be touching the ground, but gliding slowly through thin air about three or four feet above the rocks and boulders that littered the canyon floor. Nappy’s heart began to race, and he wondered if he was hallucinating. The approaching object began to look like a big upholstered chair with a man sitting upright between its bulky arms. It drew closer and Nappy saw it was indeed a chair — a brown leather recliner piloted by what looked like an old man in a gray Stetson hat and tall cowboy boots.

In a less desperate situation, Nappy would have continued to lie there in stunned silence and let it the apparition go by, but today he was in dire need of rescue, so he sat up and shouted, “Hey! You!”

The recliner stopped, turned to face him, and hovered in place. The young hiker and the old cowboy, eyes wide in mutual astonishment, stared at each other for several seconds without speaking. Nappy watched anxiously as the recliner began to glide toward him and settle to the ground about five feet away. “I need help,” croaked Nappy.

“What’s wrong?” asked the apparition.

“Water,” pleaded Nappy, gesturing toward his empty canteen.

The old cowboy let the footrest down on the recliner and stood up. He flipped open the hinged, leather-clad cover on the left arm of the chair, pulled out a quart-size canteen, and handed it to Nappy. “Don’t drink too fast, and don’t drink too much” he said. After a brief pause, he spoke again. “Even if I let you have the whole canteen, that probably ain’t going to be enough to get you across the desert and back to town.”

Nappy wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Well, at least I have a better chance than I had before you came along. And I’d have an even better chance if you’d give me a ride on that … thing … there.”

“Maybe, but first you have to promise me something. Once we part ways, you have to totally forget that you ever seen this contraption in your life. Promise me that, and maybe I’ll give you a lift.”

“I promise,” said Nappy. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“You don’t know how close you come to dying,” said the old man as he plopped back into the recliner. The footrest seemed to magically rise all by itself and it stopped when it was level with the seat. The old cowboy’s denim-clad legs stuck straight out in front of him, and his boots rested on either end of the footrest with just enough room between for a passenger. “You can have the front seat, young man.”

Nappy sat down facing forward on the recliner’s footrest. As the chair lifted off, he uttered a startled gasp and grabbed the toes of the old man’s cowboy boots. The chair rose forty feet into the air and stopped in a silent hover, affording its passengers a peep over the canyon wall. “I don’t think anyone’s around, but I have to make sure,” said the old man. He gazed intently in all directions as the chair rotated 360 degrees, and then moved out at about ten miles an hour in the direction of town. “We have to go slow and keep a sharp lookout. The fewer people that know about my magic carpet, the better it is for me. I’m a very private person who came here from far away, and I have no desire to be a celebrity. And by the way, we haven’t introduced ourselves yet. My name is Starhopper. You can call me Hoppy.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Nappy. “Your name is as weird as mine, and I don’t know about you, but I really hate my name. It’s Napoleon Birdman. Some of my friends call me Nappy and some call me Bird Man. I like Bird Man because when I tell people my name is Nappy, they want to know if it’s short for something, and then I have to tell them it’s short for Napoleon, and then they laugh at me. Even my best friends make jokes about my first name, and it really hurts my feelings.”

“How old are you, Bird Man?”

“Seventeen. I just finished my junior year at Jackrabbit High.”

“Tell me more about yourself.”

“Well, first of all, I can’t tell you how funny I feel right now gliding over the desert on a flying chair, or how thankful I am that you rescued me from dying of thirst, or how curious I am about what the heck is going on, but I will tell you that I’m a chatterbox, as you’re just now beginning to find out. My best friend has a really, really neat name, not like mine. His name is Noble Highcastle but he’s really an ass. He sits next to me in all my classes, and even though he teases me about my name and calls me Napoleon in front of other people and turns his cap around sideways and puts one hand inside his coat like that Napoleon in the history books, it’s still nice to have a friend to talk to and hang out with. In the summer, Noble works for his father at Highcastle Plumbing and Septic Tank Service and he helped me get hired as a plumber’s helper for the rest of this summer. I start work tomorrow. I asked him what I need to know to be a plumber’s helper and he said, “Payday comes on Friday and shit don’t run uphill.” I told him I could remember that, especially the payday part. My parents are poor, and I seldom even get an allowance. You know, it really feels funny carrying on a conversation with someone sitting behind me. By the way, you never told me where you were from.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well why not?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“After what I’ve seen so far, I’m ready to believe anything.”

“I came here from the far side of the Milky Way.”

“What? The far side …”

Hoppy cut him off. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Okay. I’m certainly in no position to demand.”

“No you’re not. You’ve been a great worry and inconvenience to me already.”

“I’m truly sorry about that, and I’m really grateful for the rescue. I promise I won’t say a word about you to anyone. That’s the least I can do.”

“Not to change the subject, but about that name of yours. I think if you want everybody to know you as Bird Man, you ought to buy yourself some tee shirts and sweatshirts with pictures of colorful birds on the front and the words Bird Man embroidered or printed on the back. Wear them every day and people will automatically associate the words Bird Man with … well …you.”

“Ya know, I actually thought of that myself, but I’ve never had enough money to buy my own clothes, and my parents won’t buy me fancy stuff, just functional stuff that wears well. They get most of my clothes at flea markets and rummage sales. Hey, I can already see Jackrabbit Flat way up ahead.”

The recliner slowed to a halt and settled to the ground. “I’m afraid I’ll have to let you off here,” said the old man. Drink what’s left in the canteen and get going and you ought to be home in less than two hours.”

Bird Man slid off the footrest, took the last swallow from the canteen and turned to face his benefactor. He stepped around to the right side of the chair, dropped the empty canteen in the old man’s lap, and stuck out his hand. “Thanks for everything, Hoppy. And rest assured, Sir, that your secrets are safe with me.”

“I’m and excellent judge of character,” nodded the old man, “And I believe you. A word of advice: The next time you go on a hike, carry two canteens and never set one down without the cap screwed on.”

“I won’t,” said Bird Man, and with that the old man and his leather recliner lifted back into the air, swiveled around, and took off back in the direction of the canyon.

The next morning Bird Man showed up at seven-thirty at the office of Highcastle Plumbing and Septic Tank Service. Noble Highcastle had the work orders in his pocket and was already loading the panel truck for the first job of the day. “Good Morning, little Napoleon Bonaparte. You ready to earn your plumber’s stripes?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then get in the truck, man. I’ve punched you in, and the clock is running.”

Bird Man slid in on the passenger’s side and they were off. “We got a busted sewer pipe behind the Slocum residence at 314 Eleventh Street,” said Noble. It’s just six blocks north of here.”

When the truck pulled over to the curb two minutes later, Mr. Slocum was already standing in the front yard waiting. “Around here, boys.” He led the way around the house to the back yard and motioned toward a recently excavated hole by the back porch. “Yesterday,” he said, “I was digging a hole to pour a little concrete goldfish pond there by the back porch, and I busted through an old clay pipe. I didn’t realize it was my sewer line until this morning after the family had flushed the toilets several times during the night, and I came out this morning and discovered this mess. You boys have at it. I’m going to take the family out somewhere where we can use a public restroom if we have to. See you later.” With that, Mr. Slocum walked around to the front of the house where his family was waiting. The boys heard the doors slam and heard the station wagon start up and drive away.

The hole was about five feet square and two feet deep. It had about six inches of water in it with two big turds floating on top. “Go to the truck, put on a pair of rubber boots and bring the bucket,” said Noble. Bird Man complied, and when he got back, Noble was coming in through the back gate from the alley. “Dip them floaters out and dump them in that tall grass on the other side of the alley. Then dip out the rest of the water and throw it over there in the corner of the yard. If it looks bad or smells bad, I’ll spray some clean water on it with the hose and wash it down into the grass. There ain’t room in that hole but for one man to work, so after you bail out the hole, dig out the muck about six inches below the bottom of the pipe so I have enough room to caulk the new section of pipe all the way around after I get it in place.”

Even though the task was highly unpleasant, Bird Man did as ordered while Noble sat in a lounge chair on the back porch and smoked a cigarette. When Bird Man was done, Noble put on his rubber boots, replaced the damaged section of pipe, and caulked it. When he finished he said, “Okay, you can cover up the hole now, Turd Man.”

The boys spent the rest of the week cleaning out smelly grease traps and pumping out stinking cesspools and septic tanks and Noble even ordered Bird Man down inside one septic tank to scrape up the heavy sludge after they had pumped the liquid contents into the tank truck. Day after day, Bird Man spent most of his hours down in the slop while Noble gave instructions from above. And the worst part was that Noble kept assaulting his personal dignity by calling him Turd Man.

On Friday it looked like the boys would have a short day, as they were given only one work order. A Mr. Starhopper had rented an old house three miles west of town, and he wanted someone to come out and check out the plumbing before he moved in. Bird Man noticed that the panel truck had been washed and polished and the carpets and upholstery had been vacuumed. A new air freshener hung from the interior rear view mirror. Noble wasn’t wearing his work clothes, but a clean white shirt, pressed slacks, and polished boots. Bird Man knew that meant that he’d be doing all the work while Noble, as usual, puffed on a cigarette and gave orders. When they arrived at the house, and Bird Man checked out the plumbing, he found that all was in good working order except the P-traps under the sinks. The drains were running a little slow, so Noble told him to remove the P-traps and dump all the hair, slime, and soap scum that was partially clogging them into a bucket and take it outside. Noble followed him as he carried the bucket outside, and he said, “Turd Man, set the bucket down for a second. I have to tell you something. I have a date with a girl over in Cactus Springs about an hour from now. If I take you back to Jackrabbit Flat, I won’t be able to pick her up on time. You live the wrong direction, so you’ll have to walk back to town. You won’t make it back in time to pick up your paycheck, but you can get it Monday when you come in for work.”

Bird Man’s shoulders sagged in obvious disappointment. I’ll walk back home, but could you do one little favor for me, Noble? Don’t call me Turd Man any more.”

Noble then began to say something coarse and insulting, but Bird Man was looking beyond him at the man in the leather recliner that had dropped out of the blue and was landing softly near the back door of the house. The old man was looking at Bird Man with his right index finger held vertically to his lips, so Bird Man looked directly at Noble and pretended to give his attention while actually concentrating on the activity in his peripheral vision. The old man rose from the chair and motioned toward the recliner with hands held palms up, as if inviting Bird Man to sit down. Then suddenly he disappeared into the doorway. Noble continued, “and I’ll call you whatever the hell I want to, whenever the hell I want to, and there ain’t a goddamn thing you can do about it, Turd Man!”

“I can fly away,” said Bird Man. He pushed his tormentor aside and strode the ten steps to the recliner. He seated himself in the chair. “They don’t call me Bird Man for nothing.” he said. He succeeded in maintaining an image of composure as the recliner, under alien control, rose three feet off the ground and charged directly at his antagonist. Noble stumbled backwards, knocking over the bucket, falling into the slop, and spoiling his clean, starched shirt and pressed slacks. Cursing, he sprang to his feet. The chair and its occupant charged again, stopped just short of impact and flew around Noble in a close circular orbit. The bewildered young man turned in place to keep the object in sight and became so dizzy he fell into the slop again. He lay on his back and watched as the chair shot straight up and kept going, becoming a mere dot before it disappeared into the clouds.

When Bird Man showed up at Highcastle Plumbing and Septic Tank Service on Monday, he was wearing a green tee shirt with a Scarlet Macaw, not printed, but elegantly embroidered on the front and the words Bird Man emblazoned on the back. And hanging from a strap over Bird Man’s right shoulder was a camera — very expensive and professional-looking.

Noble Highcastle sat on a greasy worn couch in the office, and he watched silently as Bird Man approached the dispatcher’s desk. The dispatcher was Noble’s mother, but unlike her son, she had always been civil and polite. “I’ve found a better job, Mrs. Highcastle,” said Bird Man, “so I’m turning in my resignation effective immediately.”

“Well good for you. I always like to see a young man try to better himself. What kind of work will you be doing?” she asked as the young man turned to exit.

Noble turned away in affected disinterest and remained silent as Bird Man answered: “Aerial photography, Ma’am.”