I can sneak him past Uncle Tom.”
“Bobby Sands? Of course, what else would he be called? Your mother would appreciate that, wouldn’t she? Poor Mr. Sands, I understand he loved birds. Oh well, maybe there are birds in heaven—there must be. It wouldn’t be heaven, would it, if there weren’t any birds?”
“That’s what Ma used to say about dogs,” I said.
“Really? Did she say that? I had no idea.” He reached into his pocket for another carrot. “Will you stay for dinner?” he asked me.
“Yes, thanks, I’d like that,” I said.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s hope that after three weeks in Ireland you haven’t begun eating your peas with a knife.”
I woke up early the next morning, the day before the pigeon race. Uncle Tom and I were scheduled to make the drive to Maine.
“Pop, have you seen Uncle Tom?” I stepped from the hallway into the open door leading to his bedroom—the same one he shared with Ma for so many years.
“Pop?”
“Good heavens, Collie, you woke me from a dead sleep. What time is it?” He was buried under a mountain of blankets even though it was warm.
“Seven o’clock. Uncle Tom’s not in his bedroom. I can’t find him in the house. I checked the loft and he’s not there, either—”
“Seven o’clock! What are you thinking? It’s the middle of the night.” He rubbed his eyes and patted his chest before lifting himself onto his elbows. “Wait a minute while I collect my thoughts.”
“Pop, come on, it’s important. . . .” I could see him deliberately stalling, relishing the chaos he knew would ensue from what he was about to say.
“Now I remember . . . I’m afraid I’ve some bad news for you. Swayze came calling after you’d gone to bed—”
“Oh no. No! No! Jesus.” The news blew me off my feet and into the nearest armchair. “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s just great. We’re supposed to leave for Maine today. . . .”
“Well, if history’s any teacher, your uncle Tom will be AWOL for the foreseeable future.”
“I don’t believe it.” I hopped back up onto my feet. “The race is tomorrow. What an idiot I am to get involved. I really thought this time would be different.” I was pacing. I didn’t know whether I was sad or angry or both. At the same time, I was trying to figure out why I was so upset when I should have been relieved. I’d been resisting the idea of the race since the beginning, and now I had a perfect out.
“Settle down, Collie. Why all the emotion? Where’s this coming from? Panic isn’t a becoming trait in a man.” Pop never missed an opening for a sermon. “What did you expect? You know your uncle Tom.” Transparently thrilled by Tom’s truancy, he pulled the pillows up around his head, making himself comfortable, settling into the disarray as if it were a featherbed. “What will you do now?”
“What do you mean, what will I do? What can I do? This was his stupid project. All I can do is hope that he shows up sometime today before it’s too late. . . . Does Swayze still live in Chilmark?”
“No, he’s in Edgartown with his sister and her husband. . . .”
“Okay. I’ll see if Uncle Tom is there . . . or maybe they know where the two of them are. Fuck . . .”
“Please, must you swear, Collie? I’ve told you since you were a boy, bad language makes a man ordinary.”
“I am ordinary, Pop.”
Swayze was passed out in the living room of his sister’s Edgartown cottage. She helped me roust him into temporary lucidity.
“Last time I saw your uncle Tom, he was headed to Victoria Park to feed the pigeons,” he said, his eyes like slits.
“When was that?” I asked him.
“I haven’t a clue,” Swayze answered, collapsing like a hollow suit.
I found him in a heap, familiar position, facedown on the ground, two pigeons perched on his shoulders and one nesting in the small of his back—Uncle Tom finally had become a living monument. They reluctantly lifted off as I approached.
“Uncle Tom . . .” I squeezed his arm. “Wake up. . . . Uncle Tom.”
He opened his eyes and mumbled something unintelligible. Bending down, I reached for his arms and tried hoisting him to his feet. He was a dead weight. I couldn’t carry him or drag him, either. Finally, I managed to revive him enough to get him vertical, my arms around his waist,