Machine Dreams
ditch, deep into the field behind the house. He’d almost stumbled into a depression where the bones lay, creamy-colored, their sheen dull. The perfect fan of the ribs held an oval egg-shaped space in the concave bed of the ditch; the long tail was stretched out, each vertebrae particular and unbroken. The bones were a stencil of a vanished dog. If it was really Polly, where was her collar? But the bones themselves seemed to finalize her disappearance. Billy never told anyone he’d found them. He covered them with long grass. Sometimes men found things with airplanes—they flew over vast lands looking for signs from the air. But even with an airplane he couldn’t have found Polly.
“I would have remembered the airfield,” Billy said.
Danner smiled, a little out of breath. “You didn’t like airplanes yet, so you don’t remember.”
The sky was brightening to a sharp indigo. Dew still dried in the fields, and the rich smell of the ground was barely evident.Later on, the heat would fill the air with the weedy odor of soil and plants and pollen. Now, far off, there was the high whine of a locust.
“It’s a perfect day,” Billy said. “I don’t want to go to church.”
Danner sighed. “She can’t go by herself. No one goes to that church alone except old ladies whose husbands are dead.”
The road leveled; Billy pedaled faster. He hated wearing a coat and tie; he hated seeing all the seated, hushed people. He’d sat through hour-long Methodist services since the age of six, watching his mother’s gloved hands. If he was fidgety she’d let him work the short, tight gloves off her hands, finger by finger, then put them back on.
“We can’t spend long at the hangar,” Danner said. “We have to be back before she wakes up.”
Over the crest of the last hill, the weathered tin of the big hangar stood out against the field, the silver roof painted with a giant white circle.
“Ride a little past the airfield,” Billy told Danner. “Stop when I do and we’ll put the bikes down flat, off the road. We can walk across the meadow on the other side of the hangar—even if Cosgrove is awake, he won’t see us.” Billy passed her and rode farther ahead.
The old hangar was dilapidated. The wood frame was covered with tin sheeting; the ribbed sheets were dented, pocked in places with BB holes. The sharply sloping metal roof had been patched, but swallows had gotten in under the sheeting and nested under the eaves. Billy led Danner across the high-grown meadow to the side of the building. Behind it was the empty landing strip: long, yellow dirt the width of a two-lane road. Billy stepped close to the hangar and touched a piece of the metal sheeting near a seam, pressing it in. He rattled the big panel until it slipped slightly, then pulled one edge out a couple of feet.
“Go through sideways,” he said. “Watch me first.” He wondered if she could do it; she was bigger than he was.
Inside there was a smell of damp earth. The light was gray. Long, dim beams slanted from two high windows. Billy stood still as his eyes adjusted, and Danner stumbled behind him, rattlingthe panel. The planes were parked closer together than he’d ever seen them, in two shadowed rows. The numbers on the wings were clearly legible even in near darkness. He crouched and turned to his sister. “Bend over so you stay below the wings.”
“Wait, I can’t see. It’s so big in here.” She bent down, feeling the ground. “There’s no floor, just dirt.”
“Water comes in when it rains,” Billy whispered. “Come on now.” He moved quickly, scuttling under wings, and heard Danner behind him trying to keep up. He’d always been alone in the hangar before; hearing her made him feel he was leading an expedition. One of the oldest planes was never locked and seemed never to be flown; he could show her that one, he was sure, and the special box on the copilot’s side.
“Don’t go so fast,” she called after him.
He could have walked down the middle of the two rows but he led her in and out, weaving around and circling the planes. Finally he stopped near the rear of the hangar, beside the old Beechcraft. Danner stood, watching. He opened the door of the airplane and stepped up. She was below him then, looking up expectantly. “Get in. On your side.” He shut the door gently and heard her moving under the nose of the plane, then the smooth click of the other door opening. She looked in, pleased, and stepped up.
Weitere Kostenlose Bücher