finally braved the movie again. By then he was firmly entrenched in his non-lifestyle and was mostly unaffected by the martial artist. He allowed himself to be carried away by the plot. The idea of the promise intrigued him. In some small way he respected the character for not fighting, for remaining aloof, and turning the other cheek. It wasn’t until the necklace that Bruce Lee wore was ripped off during a fight that the greatest martial warrior of the silver screen unleashed his superior violence upon the movie extras. And to the choreographed amazement of all the bad men, Bruce, the former coward, opened a can of Asian whoop-ass still unmatched in the annals of all kung fu moviedom.
Maxom grinned at the memory. He’d since bought the movie and watched it more than a hundred times. He was okay with the vicarious ass-kicking, but then there was the promise . Sometimes Maxom wished he could take over a human as he had the bird. Maybe even a martial artist, or just a plain person, a normal person. Just so he could walk on two legs again, use two hands. Just so he could go out in public without being called Maggot Man. It would be too easy. After all, he knew how.
But that would never happen, could never happen. Maxom had made a promise to the old Mung to never interfere in the lives of humans, to never insinuate himself into the mind of a person. Animals were different. Their lives were ruled by instinct, not thought.
Maxom glanced down from his perch, snapped a beetle from the branch, and watched the boys play cards among their rocks, their lives seeming so casual.
* * *
Sierra Vista, Arizona
Simon pulled the Lincoln station wagon into the crowded parking lot of the Safeway. Slipping into the handicapped slot nearest the sliding double doors, he listened to the ticking of the idling engine as he fought the urge to stay in the cool confines of the interior.
He surveyed the front of the grocery store, searching for some of his new pet projects. They never ceased to amaze him. For such a small desert town, the number of homeless seemed way out of proportion. He’d heard it was a normal thing, but other than Washington D.C., he’d never seen so many. The locals called them Dirty Birds, a nasty name mutated from the more familiar tag of Snow Birds given to Northerners who came to the Desert for the easy winters.
But he had to admit, the term Dirty Birds did seem appropriate. Gangly and malnourished, the homeless lurched from free coffee at the fast food restaurants to dumpsters and back for more free coffee, soaking in air conditioning and surviving on permanent caffeine highs.
Barely.
Simon spotted Billy Bones being escorted from the grocery store by an acne-faced bagger who held the Dirty Bird firmly by an elbow. Billy Bones shook his fist at the kid, then stumbled into the long racks of carts by the door. He spun, ready to defend himself against the metal monsters, but lowered his fists and grabbed the plastic handle of the cart nearest him instead. To the surprise of a nearby elderly woman, Billy gallantly proffered it. She accepted with wide terrified eyes. As she hustled through the sliding doors of the store, she missed Billy’s dramatic courtly bow.
Billy pulled his lanky brown hair from his eyes and plodded over to a bench, where he plopped down and inspected the dirt-filled creases of his hands. He wore faded blue pants, red flip-flops, and a brilliant tie-died t-shirt aswirl with golds, oranges and purples.
If pressed, Simon would call Billy Bones his favorite of the forty-seven lost souls he’d catalogued so far for The Retreat House. With most of the other homeless, it was prudent to be careful. Most times, they were as docile and slow moving as an iguana heating itself on the side of the road. Like that same iguana, however, the Dirty Birds could snap in the blink of an eye.
Simon had seen a Dirty Bird snap once. He remembered it well, and was happy that he’d merely been an observer. Her name was
Maxom grinned at the memory. He’d since bought the movie and watched it more than a hundred times. He was okay with the vicarious ass-kicking, but then there was the promise . Sometimes Maxom wished he could take over a human as he had the bird. Maybe even a martial artist, or just a plain person, a normal person. Just so he could walk on two legs again, use two hands. Just so he could go out in public without being called Maggot Man. It would be too easy. After all, he knew how.
But that would never happen, could never happen. Maxom had made a promise to the old Mung to never interfere in the lives of humans, to never insinuate himself into the mind of a person. Animals were different. Their lives were ruled by instinct, not thought.
Maxom glanced down from his perch, snapped a beetle from the branch, and watched the boys play cards among their rocks, their lives seeming so casual.
* * *
Sierra Vista, Arizona
Simon pulled the Lincoln station wagon into the crowded parking lot of the Safeway. Slipping into the handicapped slot nearest the sliding double doors, he listened to the ticking of the idling engine as he fought the urge to stay in the cool confines of the interior.
He surveyed the front of the grocery store, searching for some of his new pet projects. They never ceased to amaze him. For such a small desert town, the number of homeless seemed way out of proportion. He’d heard it was a normal thing, but other than Washington D.C., he’d never seen so many. The locals called them Dirty Birds, a nasty name mutated from the more familiar tag of Snow Birds given to Northerners who came to the Desert for the easy winters.
But he had to admit, the term Dirty Birds did seem appropriate. Gangly and malnourished, the homeless lurched from free coffee at the fast food restaurants to dumpsters and back for more free coffee, soaking in air conditioning and surviving on permanent caffeine highs.
Barely.
Simon spotted Billy Bones being escorted from the grocery store by an acne-faced bagger who held the Dirty Bird firmly by an elbow. Billy Bones shook his fist at the kid, then stumbled into the long racks of carts by the door. He spun, ready to defend himself against the metal monsters, but lowered his fists and grabbed the plastic handle of the cart nearest him instead. To the surprise of a nearby elderly woman, Billy gallantly proffered it. She accepted with wide terrified eyes. As she hustled through the sliding doors of the store, she missed Billy’s dramatic courtly bow.
Billy pulled his lanky brown hair from his eyes and plodded over to a bench, where he plopped down and inspected the dirt-filled creases of his hands. He wore faded blue pants, red flip-flops, and a brilliant tie-died t-shirt aswirl with golds, oranges and purples.
If pressed, Simon would call Billy Bones his favorite of the forty-seven lost souls he’d catalogued so far for The Retreat House. With most of the other homeless, it was prudent to be careful. Most times, they were as docile and slow moving as an iguana heating itself on the side of the road. Like that same iguana, however, the Dirty Birds could snap in the blink of an eye.
Simon had seen a Dirty Bird snap once. He remembered it well, and was happy that he’d merely been an observer. Her name was
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