DeNero, Lucille and The Triplets

I first saw DeNero while at the medical mall for an appointment. His swagger and occasional meanness resembled those of many characters Robert De Niro has played, so everyone started calling him DeNero. He and his life mate, Lucille, have their own care team, including a veterinarian. In just two seconds and two strokes (which I can't see because his webbed feet are underwater), pure white DeNero crosses the pond to chase away the drab Canadian geese he hates. They scramble out of the pond, honking loudly.

From my secret spot, hidden behind the willow tree branches beneath a royal blue sky, it will be a serene and calming morning (other than the honking geese). Dew crystals sparkle in the shamrock-green grass, and I enjoy the low-humidity seventy-four-degree weather that is so easy to breathe. Wispy pink strings float in the sky, and the crows are calling as they soar over the landscape's showcase —a pond shooting water sprays skyward from an aerator fountain. Tree reflections intermingle with ducks and water plants. However, something nags at me. Something's not right. The scene becomes distorted - warped a bit. What is happening?

I'm looking to find three older women, whom I fondly think of as The Triplets. They enjoy the serenity of the pond and each other's company from a shared black steel bench, and they became part of my routine. I sneak peeks at them and can sometimes overhear their hilarious conversations. My nicknames for each came from their physical characteristics, not any mean-spirited intent on my part. Mama (wearing huge eyeglasses) is a knitter; Saggy (with oversized ankles that seem to bubble out of her shoes) constantly writes notes in a letter-size spiral notebook. Cheeky (with cheeks shaped like plump Jonathan red apples) loves to play one-person Cat's Cradle. They giggle, sipping their coffee while chatting, no matter the weather. These "fixtures" just barely fit on the bench together, on the west side of DeNero's pond. Daily, medical personnel briskly walk past them, constantly looking at their wrists to track their steps.

The triplets never throw bread to the feathered creatures, which I abhor because bread isn't a suitable food for birds or waterfowl and could harm them. They are considerate enough not to do it, and I admire them for that. Although elderly, they are in good shape; I've seen them strolling around the pond before and after their sit-downs. Even Saggy can pass some of the medical personnel walkers. All three have a healthy glow, sharing apples with small squares of Cheddar cheese in autumn, or buttered raisin bread pieces along with grapes in spring or summer.

~

Lucille is sunning in the grass near the ducks. DeNero spots my electric blue t-shirt and glides toward me. I grin, admiring the sparkly sheen on his lily-white back and chest. He always knows where I am. Posed in front of me, he dips his neck and nods, but I feel the air thicken, and now it seems that a translucent veil separates us. He glides back toward Lucille and I can barely make him out through the shimmering veil.

Not seeing any signs of the women, I'm worried. Where are they? There are no walkers today, which is quite strange! But…every day at ten a.m., they sit there, a delightful sight during my walk. What's going on? It's incredibly quiet and a little eerie, honestly. Even the mountains are covered in haze, despite it being a bright, sunny day. The frown carved between my eyebrows is beginning to create a headache, and I try to chase away a heavy gloom that is slowly blanketing me. Then I hear a drill whirring.

Annoyed by the whirring, DeNero climbs out of the pond and waves his neck like a giraffe does when ready to fight. What is that maintenance guy doing? DeNero spreads his wings wide, then charges the man. It's pretty funny, actually, and I begin to giggle until I realize DeNero is out to hurt him. Drillman holds the tool in front of him and turns it on. DeNero emits a loud hiss, echoing. Lucille raises her head, waddles in, and in two seconds is beside her mate.

I'm squatting down, watching through the wooden slats of the overlook, invisible to onlookers (except today, strangely, like never before, no one is around except me and Drillman). The sun hits my bare head, hot, and yet, through the vines, a shiver runs through me. An ominous feeling engulfs me, and I freeze in place. My stomach is filled with anxious flutters, and I feel my heart pounding.

Another worker arrives with a white metal placard. Two medical personnel, dressed in maroon and seafoam green work scrubs, show up, along with three people in their mid-twenties, dressed in jeans and t-shirts: a man and two women.

I stand up, stretch my legs from the cramped position, and cautiously leave my hiding spot, quick-walking to the other side.

"It is a horrid thing. We are so sorry," I overhear, as the two young women sob. The worker in maroon places a hand on each of their shoulders, and the other worker touches the young man on the arm.

The whir of the drill begins, and now both swans are hissing, but Lucille has managed to corral her mate behind her so that he doesn't charge anyone. I watch the three young people gazing at the bench, arms around each other. After they have left, I approach the black steel bench, now decorated with the white sign and navy-blue letters, a wreath of pink roses encircling the words and photos.

I stand there, stunned and speechless, my hand at my throat as my heart pounds. My Triplets, those nature-loving pond companions, are memorialized with the plaque on their black steel bench.

"Are you all right? Did you know them well?" A nurse in turquoise scrubs has stopped next to me.

I shake my head. "I got used to seeing them here every day. A constant in my life, like the swans." The woman hugs me. "How could all three be gone?"

"Tour bus accident. They went on a trip together, and the bus rolled over." I slump down to the ground, shattered, crying. Another ending.

~

In the spring, I return for the first time in seven months to take a walk around the pond. At the overlook, I breathe in the scent of jasmine vines climbing the arbor. The view across the pond hits me like a punch to the gut.

DeNero and Lucille are curled up on the Triplets' bench, their necks entwined. I watch silently, barely breathing, frozen in place. With a sixth sense, the swans sit up and curve their necks into a heart shape, heads facing me. DeNero slides off the bench, waiting for Lucille to follow. He glides along the edge of the pond, Lucille right behind him, then changes direction, meandering slowly and finally stopping below me, floating in place, watching me. Baby ducks and immature Canadian geese are led away from the swans to a shoreline spot far away from the swans.

"Hi, DeNero. So handsome! (He pecks at feathers on the back of his neck.) Lucille, you pretty, pretty girl. I've missed you both."

Their Cleopatra-like black-lined eyes, above deep pumpkin-colored bills, study me intently. They glide away and waddle up the hill toward the bench. Lucille climbs up, followed by DeNero. Their enormous snow-white, feathered bodies cover three-fourths of the steel bench. In unison, they call out softly and spread their wings, each spanning about eight feet. Their wing extensions cover the entire bench and cast a shadow on the path.

"Wow! Impressive, DeNero and Lucille!" I shout.

They give me a final glance before they settle together on the bench designated for the women I knew as the Triplets.

A/N: Dedicated to Madi and Lewi - Mute swans at Madigan Army Hospital, JBLM Ft Lewis-McChord who originally came in 1993. They mate for life and when they died, others were brought in and named for them.

Copyright © 8/28/2025 by Andrea O. Corwin

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