Birdy

good. Should I tell him I have a strange dog with holes instead of eyes?
    I’m keeping my face straight through all this. That Sicilian blood is coming through. Uncle Nicky would be proud of me. Uncle Nicky’s making a fortune from the war. He sells certification of allergy from legitimate doctors at fifteen hundred bucks. He’s clearing a grand each. One of those certificates is a sure 4-F. He’s got another racket going, too. He’s opened ‘clinics’ where you can go and have your arm broken. Guys at the end of their furloughs go in and he breaks their arms for a price. Then they don’t get shipped overseas with their outfits. You go to him, he gives you anaesthetic and he has a little machine like a guillotine, only instead of a blade it has a heavy blunt piece of lead. Clump! You wake up and your arm’s already in a cast and in a sling. You have X-rays and a doctor’s signature, the whole thing. He does legs too, but that’s more complicated and more dangerous. He’s better at arms. If they’d ever’ve let me come home before the fucking war was over I was going to have myself done. Nicky’d’ve done it for free. Krauts beat him to it; didn’t charge me either, and I’ll get a pension on top. I wonder if Weiss’d believe all this if I told him.
    He’s ruffling through the papers some more.
    ‘Sergeant, can you give me any information about the patient? You were close to him. Was there ever anything you observed that would give a hint to explain this sudden, complete catatonic state and the bizarre cringing positions he gets into?’
    We’re back to Sergeant again. I can’t believe it! Weiss still hasn’t caught on that Birdy thinks he’s a canary! Dumb shit!
    ‘He was always perfectly normal, sir. Like me, poor but from a nice family. He lived in a big three-story house with lots of grounds around it. He was good in school, not a genius, sir, but he was in the academic curriculum and usually got B’s. Could you tell me, sir; what happened to him? It must’ve been something awful to make him like this.’
    Let’s see him squirm out of it this time. He lifts the papers oneat a time. I don’t think he’s looking at them, reading anything, I mean; he’s stalling for time. Maybe he’s hoping my question will go away. He might know something and not want to tell me, or, more likely, he doesn’t know any more than Renaldi.
    ‘I’ve spoken to his mother and father. They came down to verify the identification. He’d been reported as missing for over a month. They recognized him but there was no recognition from the patient. At that time, if anyone came near he would go into frantic jumping and twisting activity, falling to the floor. It was almost as if he were trying to escape.’
    ‘That doesn’t sound like him at all, sir.’
    He can’t be that stupid. He’ll catch onto the bird business soon. I wonder if Birdy’s old lady and old man told about Birdy raising the canaries. They probably wouldn’t think it meant anything. But they’d sure as hell tell about Birdy and me running away that time.
    ‘Sir, perhaps I should tell you, it might be important; the patient and I ran away. It was when we were thirteen; we went to Atlantic City and then to Wildwood in New Jersey.’
    ‘Yes.’
    Yes, yes, yes. Yes, fathead, we did it all right. He’s interested now. I figure I’ll feed him a bit at a time. He looks down at his papers. He’s reading something from a yellow sheet.
    ‘Yes, Sergeant, I have that right here. There’s a police report as well. It says here you were accused of stealing some bicycles.’
    Now isn’t that the shits. There’s no sense saying anything about it. Fatass Weiss isn’t going to believe anything I say. After all, he has it right there before him in black and yellow.
    He leans across the desk toward me now. He’s wiped the smile off his face. He’s practicing his concerned look. I lean forward, too, and try to look as if I’m sorry for being alive. That’s not too far from the truth.
    ‘Tell me, Alfonso. Just between us, do you of ten get the feeling that people aren’t being fair to you? Do you think people are out to “get” you?’
    What is this creep, a fucking mind reader? He looks down at his papers again, then looks up at me, stern, serious but very understanding.
    ‘This report on that incident at New Cumberland indicates you were in the army only five days at the time; is that true?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘It says you knocked out