Fiction by Terry Daniel McDonald
Leaning against the door of the clapboard cottage he’d bought on a whim in the Appalachians, Caleb sat and dwelled on the past. It was the perfect place to watch the lazy stream of water flowing over stones, winding through grass and trees. Flowers he could boil for tea lined the banks. The air was alive with birdsong. On clear summer days like this, hot and breezy with blue skies, he could almost forget his worries.
Food, it all came down to food. Despite the supposed bounty of nature (even with books on edible plants, foraging and trapping), manna by way of small game birds or fish wasn’t falling from heaven. Caleb might not be a real outdoorsman, but he didn’t feel helpless either. Maybe he should’ve bought a Bible instead? He’d offered up prayers, talked to trees, cussed some crickets.
“She told you this’d be no good,” Caleb muttered. Tipping his hat back, he wiped his brows with a forearm. Then he pulled the black cap off and stared at the green ARMY logo, one of his few remaining links to a ruined career. “She told ya it was damn foolish to save a bird.”
When irritated, talking to his dead mother was easier than facing reality.
But reality was just as much of a bitch right now.
Caleb only had two sets of clothes. These jeans and the long-sleeved forest-green North Face shirt were his best. Red Wing boots, all leather – probably the most solid investment he ever made in life. He had some knives, a multitool, a sharpener, a magnesium striker, a sewing kit, even a life bottle to purify water. “But no damn food,” he muttered as he beat the dust from his cap and covered his shaggy brown hair with it again.
Caleb’s throbbing leg wouldn’t be ignored so he massaged it around the makeshift splint. Yesterday, while out hiking, setting snares and searching for edible berries, or anything to eat, he failed to notice leaves covering a depression. After falling, tumbling, and hearing his leg crack like kindling, he’d absolutely noticed the rips in his camo bottoms. Finding stout branches was agony. And needing to tear off the sleeves of his red North Face shirt (which up ’til then was his favorite) flat out pissed him off. It took hours, but he’d tied the splint and stumbled home – a bad dream he wished didn’t exist. Something else that got added to his list of failures.
“Yes, ma, I guess I’m the damn fool you always thought I was.” Caleb sighed and rested his head upon the door. Closing his eyes, he remembered the hot desert sun – the day his whole life changed.
From an observation point on top of a dune he’d watched a party of Arabs drive a jeep to a flat region of sand and stop. Then the driver got out and pounded a stake into the ground. There were no troop convoys or planes, so Caleb focused his spotting scope and watched as a small falcon was tethered to the stake. A leather cap covered its head, blinding it. The driver returned to the jeep and backed it away about 100 feet then stopped. All four men got out, grabbed what looked like burlap bags, spread out around the tethered falcon, and laid down. It was the oddest display Caleb had ever witnessed.
Caleb fell in love with raptors at a young age when a goshawk chased a flock of blackbirds away from some cropland. It seemed cruel to bind a bird like the one below. For what purpose? The answer soon came as a larger hawk dove upon the helpless falcon. As it narrowly escaped death, the little boy in Caleb yelled in rage.
On instinct, he aimed and fired . . . repeatedly.
At the Court Martial, Caleb was told freeing the falcon had endangered U.S. Army interests, international relations, violated direct orders, and other things he’d chosen to forget. He accepted the punishment – two years in a military prison was okay, until his mother began running her mouth. No one else in the world could belittle him like she did, disregarding his explanations, filling him with shame.
Once released and back home in West Texas, the oil fields seemed like Caleb’s best prospect. Then he learned of a program to train raptors for crop warding. A little boy’s fascination was made real when Caleb showed up at the ranch where different kinds of hawks, falcons, and other raptors were kept. It was a top-notch operation with roomy aviaries, knowledgeable instructors, and the pay was excellent. Caleb fell in love with the job immediately and excelled in learning training techniques. Then came the day he was introduced to the “cold cages,” and everything changed.
In an all-metal building, barred and empty cages filled the space. “Only one cage is occupied at the back,” they’d told him. When Caleb drew near to it, he noticed through the haze of his breaths a beautiful peregrine falcon, and her crystal blue eyes pierced his soul. “Jezebel,” he’d whispered. She was proud, mean, and according to the lead trainers, “unworkable.” After the first visit, Caleb had asked why they didn’t just let her go and they laughed. Something about “too much was invested.” Instead, they intended to break her spirit by starving and keeping her cold.
Not if Caleb had anything to say about it. He stifled his rage and began sneaking Jezebel extra food. Soon he learned rabbit was her favorite.
The tethers binding Jezebel in the cage were padlocked steel-cuffs linked to chains. She constantly tried to break free of them. Usually, Caleb laid meat down where she could reach it and backed away, but on the third day, Jezebel approached and gently pulled the strips of rabbit from his hand. As she ate, he brushed his fingers down her back. Jezebel shivered and the little boy in Caleb began to weep. It was too much
Maybe Jezebel understood his intention, because she wasn’t startled by the ring of keys he pulled out of his pocket. Nor did she back into the cage when he pulled the door open and carefully removed the tethers. Caleb lifted her into the folds of his jacket, and he found it surprisingly easy to sneak from the building, past the barn into the field beyond. Jezebel remained utterly still until he placed her on the ground. As the sun set, her beating wings and cries were well worth getting fired, provided solace when his mother died, and …
Wings were beating! Caleb’s eyes snapped open. Just beyond where he sat, Jezebel stood, eyes flashing. He stared at her in disbelief! Finally, she backed away and began preening herself. Only then did Caleb notice the dead hare on the ground.
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