The Weight of Feathers

“You didn’t know what you were doing when you hired her,” Pépère said. “And now we are bringing her with us, and you still don’t know what you’re doing.”


Cluck hunched his shoulders, wishing he’d had the chance to tell his grandfather before word got around the family. Clémentine worked fast.

“You’d like her if you got to know her,” Cluck said.

Pépère gave a curt laugh, made rough by his torn-up throat. “Why would I want to know a nivasi?”

The floorboards wavered, turning to water.

Nivasi.

His grandfather knew. He knew Cluck had brought a Paloma into their house.

“You think I don’t see what she is?” Pépère asked.

The floorboards swelled liked waves, ready to swallow Cluck.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

“Longer than you have.”

The rattled feeling inside Cluck sharpened into anger. “Then you should have told me.”

“And what would that have done?” his grandfather asked. “You found out. It made no difference.”

“If you had a problem with her being here, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I had no problem with her being here. I have many problems with her being with you.”

Cluck put a hand on the dresser, steadying himself.

“I taught you better than this,” his grandfather said.

“Whatever happened, she didn’t do it,” Cluck said. “They don’t even want her. They threw her out.”

“She’s the same blood.” Pépère almost yelled now. “You know nothing about that family.”

“Then tell me.” Cluck slammed his hand down on the dresser. The pills rattled in the bottle, a reminder like a sharp whisper that they had not been touched. “You tell me the plant did worse things than I know, but you won’t tell me what. You tell me I shouldn’t be with her but you won’t give me any reason better than her last name. What do I do with that?”

“If you find a nivasi you leave her where you find her.” His grandfather turned. “End it with her.”

“If you didn’t want me with her, why did you let her stay?”

“Because I wanted her to get you out of here.”

“What are you talking about?” Cluck asked.

“It wouldn’t have been long until someone figured out who she was,” Pépère said. “And you’re the one who brought her here. You’re the one who knew what she was. This family would throw you out for that the same as hers threw her out.”

The book-smell Cluck’s grandfather brought with him into every room he stayed in faded. The scent of Lace’s river, all wet reeds and sun on her body, faded. Nothing stayed but the dry earth smell of his own feathers.

“You wanted them to find out?” Cluck asked.

“I wanted them to find out you’d hired a Paloma,” Pépère said. “Not that you were going into rivers with her. If they knew that, if they knew what you were really doing, they’d kill you. I’m not going to let that happen. But if they’d thought she was only some girl you were looking after, they’d just throw you away like her family did to her.”

“And that’s what you wanted?” Cluck asked. “You wanted me to end up like her?”

“I didn’t want you to end up like me.” His grandfather threw his hand toward the window, the white square of his mouchoir almost brushing the glass. “Stuck here, following everyone else’s rules.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Cluck said. They’d talked about this so many times. About Cluck going to community college, transferring to a four-year, then graduate school if he could get a scholarship like Pépère. That had been their plan since the day Pépère explained bird flight to Cluck, and Cluck had listened as closely as his youngest cousins did to fairy tales. “I didn’t plan on staying with the show forever. You knew that. I was always going to leave.”

“You mean the way I’ve left?” his grandfather asked.

His grandfather’s tired smile stung him.