Hard Red Spring by Kelly Kerney Page A

insisted. “We still have a little money left.”
    â€œYes, what we need to get home. You’re not taking our fare money.”
    Money. Evie walked to the back of the house, uninterested in hearing more. How could they argue about money when much more horrible things were happening all around them? The ghosts didn’t want their money, they wanted Mother’s mirror for some horrible, unimaginable reason. And, she was sure, they wanted her parents to fight. In the kitchen, she studied the bird and his bloody breast. She couldn’t believe Magellan wanted to kill himself. More likely, the ghosts were tormenting him, too. She peered through the slats and met his fierce, black-bead eye.
    Evie gathered the heavy crate in her arms. Magellan flapped and hissed in protest as she carried him to the front porch.
    â€œMagellan’s sick,” Evie said, hugging the crate. But they didn’t hear or see.
    â€œThey can’t take all the Indians away. I’m sure they’ll make exceptions.”
    Agitated with their fight, Magellan hopped from foot to foot and began preening.
    â€œEvery bean has to be washed, Robert. Every single coffee bean has to be picked by hand and washed and dried. And they will get every Indian in the country to do it. You got out of the first draft, now you think you can get out of this second draft, but what about the third and the fourth?”
    â€œI just have to talk to the right people. The government—”
    â€œThe government
exists
for coffee. Not law and order, not social welfare. Their
only job
is to get the Indians to work. That’s all anyone pays them for!”
    â€œBut still, they have to see what I’m doing is good for the coffee, too.”
    â€œHaven’t you figured it out, Robert? Have you yet to realize that feeding the Indians is not in their best interest? Starvation is the only incentive they have!”
    In the long, searching silence that followed this proclamation, Mother saw Magellan for the first time. “Oh my God, what is wrong with the bird?” she gasped. “What’s he doing?” Sensing her attention, the bird glared up at her with his demented beard of blood and feathers. “Evie, what’s the matter with Magellan?”
    â€œHe won’t eat. I don’t know. I tried everything,” she cried.
    Father took the crate from her. It seemed light in his hands. “Did you try lizards?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBerries?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œI think we should let him go,” Mother said, peering through the rough slats. “He’s going to kill himself like this.”
    Father turned the crate over, observing the situation from various angles. “Ixna knows. I know she knows what kind of bird this is, but she wouldn’t tell me.”
    â€œJudas says it’s not my fault. He said it’s in his nature to do this.”
    Father decided on an angle and held his chin, thinking. “If he can’t survive in a crate, with us bringing him food, he certainly can’t survive on his own in the woods.”
    â€œSo we have to watch him waste away in our house?” Mother asked. “While he rips himself to shreds before our eyes? Evie, don’t look at him!”
    â€œWhat is wrong with this country?” Father marveled, sniffing the rotting food. “It’s like they all want to starve to make some point, even the goddamned animals.”
    Done with Magellan, Mother threw her shawl over the crate and turned back to Father. “You care more about these Indians, who don’t even want your help, than your own family. Do you think”—she paused, licked the sweat from her upper lip—“this is a nourishing environment for your daughter? Without school or friends or an idea of civilization? Do you know what she’s learning down here, following Ixna all day? She doesn’t know what a toilet is, Robert, but she knows about