The-Scarlet-Ibis-Text

TheScarletIbisByJamesHurstItwasinthecloveofseasons,summerwasdeadbutautumnhadnotyetbeenborn,thattheibislitinthebleedingtree.Theflowergardenwasstrainedwithrottingbrownmagnoliapetalsandironweedsgrewrankamidthepurplephlox.Thefiveo’clocksbythechimneystillmarkedtime,buttheoriolenestintheelmwasuntenantedandrockedbackandforthlikeanemptycradle.Thelastgraveyardflowerswereblooming,andtheirsmelldriftedacrossthecottonfieldandthrougheveryroomofourhouse,speakingsoftlythenamesofourdead.It’sstrangethatallthisisstillsocleartome,nowthatsummerhaslongsincefledandtimehashaditsway.Agrindstonestandswherethebleedingtreestood,justoutsidethekitchendoor,andnowifanoriolesingsintheelm,itssongseemstodieupintheleaves,asilverydust.Theflowergardenisprim,thehouseagleamingwhite,andthepalefenceacrosstheyardstandsstraightandspruce.Butsometimes(likerightnow),asIsitinthecool,green-drapedparlor,thegrindstonebeginstoturn,andtimewithallitschangesisgroundaway-andIrememberDoo-dle.Doodlewasjustaboutthecraziestbrotheraboyeveryhad.Ofcourse,hewasn’tcrazycrazylikeoldMissLeedie,whowasinlovewithPresidentWilsonandwrotehimalettereveryday,butwasanicecrazy,likesomeoneyoumeetinyourdreams.HewasbornwhenIwassixandwas,fromtheoutset,adisappointment.Heseemedallhead,withatinybodywhichwasredandshriveledlikeanoldman’s.Everybodythoughthewasgoingtodie-everybodyexceptAuntNicey,whohaddeliveredhim.Shesaidhewouldlivebecausehewasborninacaul,andcaulsweremadefromJesus’nightgown.DaddyhadMr.Heath,thecarpenter,buildalittlemahoganycoffinforhim.Buthedidn’tdie,andwhenhewasthreemonthsold,MamaandDaddydecidedtheymightaswellnamehim.TheynamedhimWilliamArmstrong,whichisliketyingabigtailonasmallkite.Suchanamesoundsgoodonlyonatombstone.Ithoughtmyselfprettysmartatmanythings,likeholdingmybreath,running,jumping,orclimbingthevinesinOldWomanSwamp,andIwantedmorethananythingelsesomeonetoracetoHorseheadLanding,someonetoboxwith,andsomeonetoperchwithinthetopforkofthegreatpinebehindthebarn,whereacrossthefieldsandswampsyoucouldseethesea.Iwantedabrother.ButMama,crying,toldmethatevenifWilliamArmstronglived,hewouldneverdothesethingswithme.Hemightnot,shesobbed,evenbe“allthere.”Hemight,aslongashelived,lieontherubbersheetinthecenterofthebedinthefrontbedroomwherethewhiteMarquettecurtainsbillowedoutintheafternoonseabreeze,rustlinglikepalmettofronds.Itwasbadenoughhavinganinvalidbrother,buthavingonewhopossiblywasnotalltherewasunbearable,soIbegantomakeplanstokillhimbysmotheringhimwithapillow.However,oneafternoonasIwatchedhim,myheadpokedbetweentheironpostsofthefootofthebed,helookedstraightatmeandgrinned.Iskippedthroughtherooms,downtheechoinghalls,shouting,“Mama,hesmiled.He’sallthere!He’sallthere!”andhewas.Whenhewastwo,ifyoulaidhimonhisstomach,hebegantomovehimself,strainingterribly.Thedoctorsaidthatwithhisweakheartthisstrainwouldprobablykillhim,butitdidn’t.Trembling,he’dpushhimselfup,turningfirstred,thenasoftpurple,andfinallycollapsebackontothebedlikeanoldworn-outdoll.IcanstillseeMamawatchinghim,herhandpressedtightacrosshermouth,hereyeswideandun-blinking.Buthelearnedtocrawl(itwashisthirdwinter),andwebroughthimoutofthefrontbedroom,puttinghimontherugbeforethefireplace.Forthefirsttimehebecameoneofus.Aslongashelayallthetimeinbed,wecalledhimWilliamArm-strong,eventhoughitwasformalandsoundedasifwewerereferringtooneofourancestors,butwithhiscreepingaroundonthedeerskinrugandbeginningtotalk,somethinghadtobedoneabouthisname.ItwasIwhorenamedhim.Whenhecrawled,hecrawledbackwards,asifhewereinreverseandcouldn’tchangegears.Ifyoucalledhim,he’dturnaroundasifheweregoingintheotherdirection,thenhe’dbackrightuptoyoutobepickedup.Crawlingbackwardmadehimlooklikeadoodlebug,soIbegantocallhimDoodle,andintimeevenMamaandDaddythoughtitwasabetternamethanWilliamArmstrong.OnlyAuntNiceydisagreed.Shesaidcaulbabiesshouldbetreatedwithspecialrespectsincetheymightturnouttobesaints.RenamingmybrotherwasperhapsthekindestthingIeverdidforhim,becausenobodyexpectsmuchfromsomeonecalledDoodle.AlthoughDoodlelearnedtocrawl,heshowednosignsofwalking,buthewasn’tidle.Hetalkedsomuchthatweallquitlisteningtowhathesaid.ItwasaboutthistimethatDaddybuilthimago-cartandIhadtopullhimaround.AtfirstIjustparadedhimupanddownthepiazza,butthenhestartedcryingtobetakenoutintotheyard,anditendedupbymyhavingtolughimwhereverIwent.IfIsomuchaspickedupmycap,he’dstartcryingtogowithmeandMamawouldcallfromwhereshewas,“TakeDoodlewithyou.”Hewasaburdeninmanyways.Thedoctorhadsaidthathemustn’tgettooexcited,toohot,toocold,ortootiredandthathemustalwaysbetreatedgently.Alonglistofdon’tswentwithhim,allofwhichIignoredoncewegotoutofthehouse.Todiscouragehiscomingwithme,I’drunwithhimacrosstheendsofthecottonrowsandcareenhimaroundcornersontwowheels.SometimesIaccidentallyturnedhimover,buthenevertoldMama.Hisskinwasverysensitive,andhehadtowearabigstrawhatwheneverhewentout.Whenthegoinggotroughandhehadtoclingtothesidesofthego-cart,thehatslippedallthewaydownoverhisears.Hewasasight.Finally,IcouldseeIwaslicked.Doo-dlewasmybrotherandhewasgoingtoclingtomeforever,nomatterwhatIdid,soIdraggedhimacrosstheburningcottonfieldtosharewit