Straighten Up and Guy Write

It’s a good thing all that hullabaloo goes on below, thought Abner. And below is where it had better stay. He meant to scoff, but it came out as a sigh. Only one thing could tear Abner’s eyes from the sky; one event, one day of the year. God bless Augustabelle Abordieu for doing something interesting with her inheritance. Abner leaned over the wooden railing and tried to ignore the ache in his back.

Thirty feet below his lookout tower the people of Mountridge dashed among buildings in pairs and groups. The bakery lady lifted her aproned skirt but couldn’t quite manage to break into a trot, and no wonder. Every bit of her had jiggled the time she’d laughed at Abner for ordering ‘the bagel with the debris on it’. The fellow who ran the hardware store must have figured fourteen eyes were better than two; he had his whole clan in tow. He’d let each of his kids walk all over Abner the time he’d gone in for a hammer. That computer salesman matched steps with his young wife. He had taken advantage of Abner and sold him a gadget he didn’t need. Each of the townsfolk had pushed him around in one way or another. It wasn’t hard to do. Now each of them held identical clue cards. From the safety of his tower Abner wondered what the prize was this year.

Then there she was, scaling the lookout tower steps. Had anyone seen her?

Abner scanned the throng.

Every head looked around, not up. She was in the clear. Augustabelle swung onto the deck and spotted Abner. She gave a sharp salute and winked. Before he could change his shock to a smile, she dashed through the open door and into the cabin.

Abner smoothed his sparse hairs, hooked his thumbs in his suspenders, and made a tentative effort to straighten his back. He cringed. It wouldn’t cooperate, not today. No matter. Abner shuffled toward the door but stopped short at the grunts and thumps behind him.

Two men stood on the tower deck. The wiry one held a clue card. As the big one shifted his wide stance to check the way they had come, a little black notebook peeked out of his back pocket.

Hey, you rascals can’t be up here. The words were familiar—ready—but something stayed him. Not many people carried notebooks anymore. These days it was all gadgets. Someone willing to entrust their thoughts to the old-school pages of a notebook was someone interesting. Someone interesting was someone different. Someone different might be kind.

The chance to form a human connection could be worth one more shot. The thought was planted. A smile grew among the furrows and set Abner’s eyes alight. He flung his arms wide. “Hello. Welcome to my tower. I’m Abner. So pleased to meet you, so pleased. Come into my cabin, come in, come in. Eh, you are—?”

“Looking for the prize, what do you think?” The wiry one skittered through the doorway. He took in the meager furniture, the shelves full of knickknacks, the pair of turtle doves nesting in an open cage. “I saw her come up here. Where did she hide it?” One glance around the room and through the windows to the other side of the deck told them Augustabelle had descended.

Abner’s smile faltered, and he moved aside as the big guy stepped close behind him. “Well, now, I don’t know. I was out on the deck, same as you.” He stroked the back of his hand. “Can I offer you some cocoa? I’ll just put the kettle on. Care for an apple?” Abner lifted one from the bowl on the table and tossed it to Big Guy, who grabbed it out of the air and lobbed it to Wiry in one fluid motion. Everything but his arm remained still.

Wiry caught the apple with both hands and turned it over in front of his face, but stopped short of sniffing it. With his recessive chin and sleep-deprived eyes, Wiry’s animal resemblance was unfortunate.

Abner tilted his head. “Maybe you want to take it down to the creek and wash it first.”

Big Guy pulled out his little black notebook, opened it, and began to write.

“Shut up, Guy.” said Wiry.

Abner said, “Big Guy’s name is Guy? He didn’t say anything.”

“He thinks you’re funny.”

Abner reached across his head to scratch his ear. “How do you know? He didn’t laugh.”

Guy snapped the notebook shut and resumed his wide stance of silence.

Wiry scanned the walls, eyes squinted, neck craned, fists on hips. Distracted, he replied, “Head injury. Kicked by a horse, or something. Guy can’t process humor same as you and me, so he keeps that notebook with him all the time. What he doesn’t laugh, he writes.” Wiry bent to check the table’s underside, then lifted a painting from the wall. “Guy’s handy muscle. These scavenger hunts get competitive. A fellow needs backup when things get heated.” He tossed the apple up and caught it. “Does anything look out of place to you?”

“You paid this man to accompany you on the scavenger hunt?” Abner chuckled. “Well, now that I think about it, it’s not that crazy an idea. I know if I found the prize, and if it were worth anything, I’d cash it in and you know what I’d do then? I’d pay someone to keep me company up here. That’s just what I’d do. Yes sir, not too crazy at all.”

Wiry let out a long, slow breath. “Could you just tell me if anything looks out of place, like it was moved by someone hiding something in a hurry?”

“Well now, no it doesn’t. I’ll tell you though, my doves look disquieted. They let me know how they’re feeling. It’s not that I think I’m a bird, or they’re human, but I can understand them. If that makes me a bird-brain, well.” Abner’s giggle grew until his belly shook and he had to wipe under both eyes.

Guy pulled out his little black notebook, opened it, and began to write.

Wiry faced the wall. His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened around the apple.

Abner pulled himself together. “But that’s how I got the job in the first place. I get a sense for things. I don’t just keep an eye out for forest fires, I behold the nesting birds in the area. We have eagles up on the ridge. Rare birds, too. We have some rare ones. I also watch the weather. We did have that tornado back in—oh, when was it—it was just after my brother got married. His wife was the librarian—”

The apple burst in Wiry’s palm.

“That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, son. My strength isn’t much to speak of anymore, but that’s all right. I just wish I could straighten my back. Every once in a while, I can manage to get myself upright, but those parties are few and far between. I hardly have the motivation. Anything short of great personal victory—”

Wiry spun on his heel and stormed across the floorboards straight at Abner. He drove his forearm into his chest and shoved him against the wall.

Abner grunted.

Wiry’s forearm crept up Abner’s neck, pressed into his Adam’s apple, and raised his chin.

Guy stepped forward with his hand outstretched.

“Back off, Guy.” said Wiry. “He’s not paying you, I am.” He stared at Abner. “Do you know what the prize is this year? It’s a thousand-dollar bill. Not many made, fewer preserved. Do you know who’s on the thousand-dollar bill, Abner? No, you don’t. You don’t know much, that’s why they stuck you up in this tower. They have computers now for everything you do, you worthless old fart.”

Abner struggled. Pain shot up his back, down his legs, across his shoulders. He didn’t whimper, though. He would not whimper.

Wiry spit. “It’s Grover Cleveland on the thousand-dollar bill. President Grover Cleveland. Know why? Because he served two non-consecutive terms, now that’s a rare bird. You probably think the thousand-dollar bill is worth a thousand dollars. Well, it’s not. It’s worth more. Today it’s worth twenty thousand dollars.” Wiry shouted in Abner’s face. “Twenty thousand dollars.” He dropped his arm.

Abner’s legs gave out and he fell to the floor. He rubbed his neck and coughed.

The black notebook hit the floor. Guy knelt beside Abner and put a hand on his shoulder and back.

Wiry sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I came up here looking for twenty-thousand dollars, old man, not a visit. I don’t care about your stories. I don’t care about your lonely heart or your broken body. I don’t care about your stupid non-job or your junk on the walls or your pigeons.” He bent at the waist and peered into Abner’s watering eyes. “I’m going to ask you one more time, does anything in this box of junk look out of place to you?”

Abner looked up at Wiry, and over to Guy, and around his home. The kettle steamed on the stove, silent. He had taken the whistle attachment off because it made the doves nervous. The doves were nervous right now anyway. They hopped and fussed over their nest and stretched their necks and titled their heads this way and that. They were upset. They knew things weren’t right. They were telling Abner. They were telling him.

Abner nodded at them, then shook his head at Wiry. He gripped Guy’s arm as he stood. Abner groaned. “Everything is as it should be. Augustabelle must have come through to stall you, to get you hung up here, because nothing looks out of place. She went through here too quickly to leave anything. I may not know much, but I know my own.” Abner raised his wavering chin and squared his bent shoulders. “You can be on your way.”

Wiry twitched a moment, then growled. “Come on.”

Guy hesitated, and placed a gentle hand on Abner’s shoulder. He picked up his notebook and followed Wiry down the tower steps.

Abner watched them for a moment as they made their way down. He smoothed his sparse hairs. He adjusted his suspenders. He hobbled to the stove and turned off the flame. He turned to his doves and murmured to them. He quieted them with a touch. Then, ever so carefully, he reached past them and put a hand in their nest. He felt behind the near side, under the rim. There his fingers touched something. There he felt what hadn’t been there before, what his doves told him he would find.

Far below the watch tower, the hullabaloo continued as it did every year. The people of Mountridge dashed among buildings in pairs and groups. Each of them held identical clue cards. Abner knew what the prize was this year.

From his dove’s nest Abner pulled a slip of paper. As he gazed down at the face of President Grover Cleveland, a smile grew among the furrows and set Abner’s eyes alight.

The doves cooed.

“Why, you rascals,” he said.

Abner slipped the thousand-dollar bill into his pocket. He hobbled out onto his deck and stood by the wooden railing.

Below, Wiry paced as he stared at his clue card and pulled at his hair.

Guy stood nearby, his feet apart, stock still. Movement caught his eye, or maybe he just sensed it. Guy raised his eyes and spotted Abner.

The old man hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. He took a deep breath of summer air. His breath caught as he lifted his chest and, with a click and a groan, straightened his back.

Guy watched. After a moment he pulled out his little black notebook, opened it, and began to write.