Birdy

won’t have to go to the police.’
    My father starts his jabbing routine. He can hit so hard withthe point of his middle finger just on the soft part under the collar bone, it’s like a bullet going through you. Birdy stands there taking it. He doesn’t move. I can’t believe the old man’s using his full force. He stops and stares at Birdy; I can see he has his hand down at his side now itching to give one to Birdy. I’m beginning to think it’ll be the old immovable object and the irresistible force.
    ‘You see, Mr Columbato, Al and I have a signed receipt of purchase for that car from Mr Schwartz. It is officially our property.’
    This is pure bullshit. We don’t have anything from Schwartz.
    ‘You agreed to have the automobile officially inspected and registered, so it’s in your name, but you are not the official owner; you have no evidence of purchase from us. It is still our property. Now, if you will just tell me the name of the man who bought the car, I can explain this to him.’
    The old man sits down. I can’t believe it. Birdy’s still standing there.
    ‘I’m sure the man who bought the car would rather not have the police investigating this. It could be embarrassing for everybody.’
    The old man is actually breaking out in a sweat. There are beads of water across his forehead and over his lips.
    ‘Why you want to be such a hard nose, kid? Look, I’ll do you a favor.’ He tilts, reaches into his pocket and pulls out the roll. He peels off another fifty bucks and holds it out to Birdy. Birdy doesn’t move. The old man waves the money.
    ‘That’s all I got for it, kid. Take it and get outta here. Leave me alone, huh?’
    My mother’s moved into the room. She takes the money from my father and grabs hold of Birdy’s arm. He comes with her and she leads him back to the kitchen. Birdy’s face is chalk white, his lips are blue, and his whole body is shaking. My mother talks English to Birdy.
    ‘Boy, you take the money. I get more from Al’s uncle, my brother. Don’t make trouble. How much money you want?’
    Birdy looks at her. Tears are coming into his eyes. He takes the money from her and hands it to me. He shakes his head and goes down the cellar steps, then on out the back. I try to follow him but my mother stops me.
    When I finish telling this story to Renaldi he sits there, looking straight into me, listening. All along he’s nodded his head or let me know other ways that he’s listening and interested. I find it hard to go on with the story sometimes because I fill up. My nerves still aren’t quite right.
    So, my mother gives me another hundred dollars about a week later. She really forces me to take it and swears she got it from her brother. Her brother’d give her ten thousand dollars if she asked for it and he wouldn’t even ask what for.
    I give it all to Birdy and tell him Nicky’d kicked in with two hundred. You see, Birdy’s still sore. He figures the car is worth at least three hundred and he’s been checking things out to find who bought the car and he’s going to call the cops. He’s even written to the department of motor vehicles to find out what name the car is registered in. I tell him they’ll kill him but he couldn’t care less. When Birdy’s got his mind on something, especially when he’s pissed like that, it’s hard to turn him off.
    It must be almost three weeks later when I go over to his place and he’s working out with his wings, flapping in his back yard. I see giant black and blue marks on his chest. It takes me a few seconds to realize that’s where the old man gave him those finger pokes. The old man wasn’t holding back; Birdy was just pushing forward on each poke. He was probably practically breaking the old man’s finger.
    I stop. I’m tired of telling about it. I don’t think Renaldi’s getting what I’m talking about anyway. I’m not even so sure myself.
    ‘Gee, Al. You really ought to tell Weiss this stuff. Maybe he could understand some and be able to help Birdy. I don’t think Weiss even knows he’s called Birdy. That should mean something to him. You owe it to Birdy.’
    ‘Not me. Don’t you tell him either! I’d rather Birdy stay crazy than have a shit like Weiss bring him back. If I came back frombeing crazy and saw somebody like Weiss standing there in front of me, I’d probably cry the rest of my life.’
    That’s where I should’ve asked about ‘being crazy’ but I didn’t. I figure Renaldi