Where I'm Calling From

road, I saw a field of corn, a mailbox, and a long, graveled driveway. At the end of the driveway, back in some trees, stood a house with a front porch. There was a chimney on the house. But it was summer, so, of course, no smoke rose from the chimney. But I thought it was a pretty picture, and I said so to Fran.
    “It’s the sticks out here,” she said.
    I turned into the drive. Corn rose up on both sides of the drive. Corn stood higher than the car. I could hear gravel crunching under the tires. As we got up close to the house, we could see a garden with green things the size of baseballs hanging from the vines.
    “What’s that?” I said.
    “How should I know?” she said. “Squash, maybe. I don’t have a clue.”
    “Hey, Fran,” I said. “Take it easy.”
    She didn’t say anything. She drew in her lower lip and let it go. She turned off the radio as we got close to the house.
    A baby’s swing-set stood in the front yard and some toys lay on the porch. I pulled up in front and stopped the car. It was then that we heard this awful squall. There was a baby in the house, right, but this cry was too loud for a baby.
    “What’s that sound?” Fran said.
    Then something as big as a vulture flapped heavily down from one of the trees and landed just in front of the car. It shook itself. It turned its long neck toward the car, raised its head, and regarded us.
    “Goddamn it,” I said. I sat there with my hands on the wheel and stared at the thing.
    “Can you believe it?” Fran said. “I never saw a real one before.”
    We both knew it was a peacock, sure, but we didn’t say the word out loud. We just watched it. The bird turned its head up in the air and made this harsh cry again. It had fluffed itself out and looked about twice the size it’d been when it landed.
    “Goddamn,” I said again. We stayed where we were in the front seat.
    The bird moved forward a little. Then it turned its head to the side and braced itself. It kept its bright, wild eye right on us. Its tail was raised, and it was like a big fan folding in and out. There was every color in the rainbow shining from that tail.
    “My God,” Fran said quietly. She moved her hand over to my knee.
    “Goddamn,” I said. There was nothing else to say.
    The bird made this strange wailing sound once more. “May-awe, may-awe!” it went. If it’d been something I was hearing late at night and for the first time, I’d have thought it was somebody dying, or else something wild and dangerous.
    The front door opened and Bud came out on the porch. He was buttoning his shirt. His hair was wet. It looked like he’d just come from the shower.
    “Shut yourself up, Joey!” he said to the peacock. He clapped his hands at the bird, and the thing moved back a little. “That’s enough now.
    That’s right, shut up! You shut up, you old devil!” Bud came down the steps. He tucked in his shirt as he came over to the car. He was wearing what he always wore to work—blue jeans and a denim shirt. I had on my slacks and a short-sleeved sport shirt. My good loafers. When I saw what Bud was wearing, I didn’t like it that I was dressed up.
    “Glad you could make it,” Bud said as he came over beside the car. “Come on inside.”
    “Hey, Bud,” I said.
    Fran and I got out of the car. The peacock stood off a little to one side, dodging its mean-looking head this way and that. We were careful to keep some distance between it and us.
    “Any trouble finding the place?” Bud said to me. He hadn’t looked at Fran. He was waiting to be introduced.
    “Good directions,” I said. “Hey, Bud, this is Fran. Fran, Bud. She’s got the word on you, Bud.”
    He laughed and they shook hands. Fran was taller than Bud. Bud had to look up.
    “He talks about you,” Fran said. She took her hand back. “Bud this, Bud that. You’re about the only person down there he talks about. I feel like I know you.” She was keeping an eye on the peacock. It had moved over near the porch.
    “This here’s my friend,” Bud said. “He ought to talk about me.” Bud said this and then he grinned and gave me a little punch on the arm.
    Fran went on holding her loaf of bread. She didn’t know what to do with it. She gave it to Bud. “We brought you something.”
    Bud took the loaf. He turned it over and looked at it as if it was the first loaf of bread he’d ever seen.
    “This is real nice of you.” He brought the loaf up to his face and sniffed it.
    “Fran baked that