The Shadow Of the Hawk
Although the atmosphere was somewhat marred by the flies swarming around a dead fish one of the kids had left lying on the back porch, it was one of those perfect Saturday mornings. Birds sang cheerfully, warm sunshine streamed through the windows and the smell of bacon, eggs and coffee hung in the air. Not even the thought of dealing with the raccoon that was slowly eating the fascia board on the sunroom could dampen the man’s spirits as he sat down to breakfast.
“My! Isn’t this a lovely day!” he exclaimed to his wife, who was already seated across from him reading her newspaper. “I think I’ll just weed the flower bed, mow the lawn and spend the rest of the day in the hammock drinking beer.”
“That’s nice dear,” she replied without interest from behind her paper. She knew that was all he ever did on Saturdays anyway. Except every so often he took his field glasses back to the woods with some other dummies and spent the day watching birds. She didn’t think much of either pastime, but she consoled herself by thinking that was the sort of thing that all dummies did and let it go at that.
As he made his first jab at his egg yolks, a large Red-tailed hawk landed on the kitchen windowsill. "Well for heaven’s sake!” He exclaimed. “A big Red-tailed hawk has come for breakfast!”
“That’s nice dear,” replied his wife, still reading the funnies. “Why don’t you set another plate?”
Ignoring her, the man ate his breakfast while the hawk sat on the windowsill staring at him. The bird didn’t make a sound, didn’t ruffle a feather, but not once during the meal did it take its eyes off the man. The hawk had a certain ominous presence as it glared at the man and before he had poured his third cup of coffee, he had the uncanny sensation the bird was harassing him. “What in the world does this hawk want anyway?” He asked himself aloud.
“I’m sure I don’t know dear,” answered his wife. “It’s your friend not mine.”
As he slowly sipped his coffee, the man watched the hawk out of the corner of his eye. Although there was a pane of glass between them, he found it increasingly difficult to look directly at the creature. He had never been close enough to a hawk to notice what piercing eyes they have and as each moment passed the hawk's eyes seemed to grow larger, more glaring. His cup slipped through trembling fingers, hitting the table with a clamorous, clattering crash. “Be careful dear,” scolded his wife. “You don’t want your new friend to see your bad manners, do you?”
“You dumb broad!” He screamed, as he dashed for the bathroom. “Can’t you see this damn bird is out to get me!”
Standing with his back to the locked door, and away from the fierce gaze of the hawk, he began to settle down. Before long he recovered enough to walk to the medicine cabinet and remove his shaving kit. It was unusual for him to shave on Saturday, but today he needed an excuse to stay in the bathroom longer. As he spread the contents of his shaving kit on the vanity beside the sink, he thought how foolish it was to get so upset over a bird on his windowsill. I must be working too hard, he thought, maybe I’ll spend the whole day in the hammock.
Feeling much better, he lathered his face and began to shave. Suddenly his blood turned to ice water, much of which ran out the gash he put in his chin, for there, in the mirror, sitting motionless on the bathroom windowsill was the reflection of the hawk. For the first time in his life the man knew the cold clutch of fear. “Am I losing my mind?” He asked himself. “This is impossible! That hawk just can’t be there!” It must be those mushrooms we had last night, he thought, perhaps I need a cold shower.
As the refreshing cold water washed over his body, he began to feel confident the hawk would be gone when he finished. His spirits were also considerably raised by the thought of drinking beer in the hammock all day. Soon, he was actually whistling one of those tuneless tunes so favoured by people in the shower. As one hand shut off the water, the other reached through the curtain pulling a towel off the rack. I think I’ll just dry off in here this morning, he thought, reluctant to admit to himself that he was afraid to come out.
By this time his wife had finished her newspaper, washed the dishes and chased the raccoon away from the sunroom. She began to wonder what was taking so long in the bathroom. Although she had become accustomed to his strange ways many years ago, she thought his behaviour this morning more peculiar than usual. “What are you doing in there?” She yelled through the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”
The man still wasn’t sure what was going on with the hawk and he knew he wouldn’t get much sympathy from her anyway. He certainly wasn’t prepared to tell her he was afraid of a bird. “Of course I’m all right!” He shouted. “Give me a break! I’m just taking my time this morning! If you want to do something useful, get me some band aids!”
Taking his time, she thought, as she climbed the stairs to get the Band-Aids. He’s been in there long enough to shave and shower the Dallas Cowboys- Cowgirls and all. I wonder what he’s cut now.
Still in the shower, the man finally mustered enough courage to draw the curtain far enough to see the window. “My God!” He cried. “It’s still there! What did I ever do to this hawk anyway? Nothing, that’s what I did! Nothing! I don’t hunt! I’m always kind to animals! I’ve never hurt a bird in my life! Why, I’m even kind to children!" His so recently showered body became drenched with cold sweat. Frantically, he snatched up the towel, dashed to his bedroom, slammed the door and yanked down the shade. For five minutes he stood trembling in the middle of the room, afraid to look at the window. As he mopped the sweat from his body, he was thankful that the hawk was unable to see him with the shade down, but as he stole a glance at the window while pulling on his shorts, his mind totally snapped, for there, silhouetted against the shade was the shadow of the hawk.
“You won’t get me, you gocky-eyed chicken thief!” he screamed, as he ran to the front hall closet where he kept his shotgun. “Let’s see how good you are against a load of buckshot! You hook-nosed butcher!”
Of course, the hawk was no dummy. By the time the man burst through the back door in his underwear, slipping on the dead fish and hurtling curses and buckshot to the heavens, the hawk was a mile away. His wife arrived with the Band-Aids just in time to witness this behaviour, which she considered bizarre even for a dummy. She became extremely alarmed and telephoned the local psychiatric hospital for help. When they found him late that afternoon, he was wandering through the woods in his tattered shorts, torn and bleeding, shouting hysterically. “You want me, you Red-tailed Son-of-a-Great Bustard! Here I am! Come and get me! You want war, you’re gonna get war!”
He spent several years in the hospital. His wife went to see him three times a week and eventually he went home. He appeared to be making significant progress until the day an owl flew through his open window. Now he spends most of his time crouching in the front hall closet, clutching the empty shotgun.
“My! Isn’t this a lovely day!” he exclaimed to his wife, who was already seated across from him reading her newspaper. “I think I’ll just weed the flower bed, mow the lawn and spend the rest of the day in the hammock drinking beer.”
“That’s nice dear,” she replied without interest from behind her paper. She knew that was all he ever did on Saturdays anyway. Except every so often he took his field glasses back to the woods with some other dummies and spent the day watching birds. She didn’t think much of either pastime, but she consoled herself by thinking that was the sort of thing that all dummies did and let it go at that.
As he made his first jab at his egg yolks, a large Red-tailed hawk landed on the kitchen windowsill. "Well for heaven’s sake!” He exclaimed. “A big Red-tailed hawk has come for breakfast!”
“That’s nice dear,” replied his wife, still reading the funnies. “Why don’t you set another plate?”
Ignoring her, the man ate his breakfast while the hawk sat on the windowsill staring at him. The bird didn’t make a sound, didn’t ruffle a feather, but not once during the meal did it take its eyes off the man. The hawk had a certain ominous presence as it glared at the man and before he had poured his third cup of coffee, he had the uncanny sensation the bird was harassing him. “What in the world does this hawk want anyway?” He asked himself aloud.
“I’m sure I don’t know dear,” answered his wife. “It’s your friend not mine.”
As he slowly sipped his coffee, the man watched the hawk out of the corner of his eye. Although there was a pane of glass between them, he found it increasingly difficult to look directly at the creature. He had never been close enough to a hawk to notice what piercing eyes they have and as each moment passed the hawk's eyes seemed to grow larger, more glaring. His cup slipped through trembling fingers, hitting the table with a clamorous, clattering crash. “Be careful dear,” scolded his wife. “You don’t want your new friend to see your bad manners, do you?”
“You dumb broad!” He screamed, as he dashed for the bathroom. “Can’t you see this damn bird is out to get me!”
Standing with his back to the locked door, and away from the fierce gaze of the hawk, he began to settle down. Before long he recovered enough to walk to the medicine cabinet and remove his shaving kit. It was unusual for him to shave on Saturday, but today he needed an excuse to stay in the bathroom longer. As he spread the contents of his shaving kit on the vanity beside the sink, he thought how foolish it was to get so upset over a bird on his windowsill. I must be working too hard, he thought, maybe I’ll spend the whole day in the hammock.
Feeling much better, he lathered his face and began to shave. Suddenly his blood turned to ice water, much of which ran out the gash he put in his chin, for there, in the mirror, sitting motionless on the bathroom windowsill was the reflection of the hawk. For the first time in his life the man knew the cold clutch of fear. “Am I losing my mind?” He asked himself. “This is impossible! That hawk just can’t be there!” It must be those mushrooms we had last night, he thought, perhaps I need a cold shower.
As the refreshing cold water washed over his body, he began to feel confident the hawk would be gone when he finished. His spirits were also considerably raised by the thought of drinking beer in the hammock all day. Soon, he was actually whistling one of those tuneless tunes so favoured by people in the shower. As one hand shut off the water, the other reached through the curtain pulling a towel off the rack. I think I’ll just dry off in here this morning, he thought, reluctant to admit to himself that he was afraid to come out.
By this time his wife had finished her newspaper, washed the dishes and chased the raccoon away from the sunroom. She began to wonder what was taking so long in the bathroom. Although she had become accustomed to his strange ways many years ago, she thought his behaviour this morning more peculiar than usual. “What are you doing in there?” She yelled through the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”
The man still wasn’t sure what was going on with the hawk and he knew he wouldn’t get much sympathy from her anyway. He certainly wasn’t prepared to tell her he was afraid of a bird. “Of course I’m all right!” He shouted. “Give me a break! I’m just taking my time this morning! If you want to do something useful, get me some band aids!”
Taking his time, she thought, as she climbed the stairs to get the Band-Aids. He’s been in there long enough to shave and shower the Dallas Cowboys- Cowgirls and all. I wonder what he’s cut now.
Still in the shower, the man finally mustered enough courage to draw the curtain far enough to see the window. “My God!” He cried. “It’s still there! What did I ever do to this hawk anyway? Nothing, that’s what I did! Nothing! I don’t hunt! I’m always kind to animals! I’ve never hurt a bird in my life! Why, I’m even kind to children!" His so recently showered body became drenched with cold sweat. Frantically, he snatched up the towel, dashed to his bedroom, slammed the door and yanked down the shade. For five minutes he stood trembling in the middle of the room, afraid to look at the window. As he mopped the sweat from his body, he was thankful that the hawk was unable to see him with the shade down, but as he stole a glance at the window while pulling on his shorts, his mind totally snapped, for there, silhouetted against the shade was the shadow of the hawk.
“You won’t get me, you gocky-eyed chicken thief!” he screamed, as he ran to the front hall closet where he kept his shotgun. “Let’s see how good you are against a load of buckshot! You hook-nosed butcher!”
Of course, the hawk was no dummy. By the time the man burst through the back door in his underwear, slipping on the dead fish and hurtling curses and buckshot to the heavens, the hawk was a mile away. His wife arrived with the Band-Aids just in time to witness this behaviour, which she considered bizarre even for a dummy. She became extremely alarmed and telephoned the local psychiatric hospital for help. When they found him late that afternoon, he was wandering through the woods in his tattered shorts, torn and bleeding, shouting hysterically. “You want me, you Red-tailed Son-of-a-Great Bustard! Here I am! Come and get me! You want war, you’re gonna get war!”
He spent several years in the hospital. His wife went to see him three times a week and eventually he went home. He appeared to be making significant progress until the day an owl flew through his open window. Now he spends most of his time crouching in the front hall closet, clutching the empty shotgun.
posted by Don Edmiston at 9:36 AM
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