Free Treasure Island!!! by Sara Levine Page A

tack. “Look, I’ll give you fifty bucks if you’ll take the bird now, fifty bucks when I get settled, and five bucks a week for upkeep. You’re a fool if you don’t see you can turn a profit.”
    “What in god’s name are you talking about? I don’t want to make a profit!” Lars sank into a chair, whipped off his glasses and buried his face in his hands.
    I had seen him do this before—once when his great uncle, three times removed, had had a stroke; and another time when he was peeved at me for not understanding why he’d been so upset that his great uncle, three times removed, had had a stroke (I’d accused him of dramatizing). Then he’d covered his face with his hands for a full minute; now he curled into the posture and remained there, incommunicado, for almost five.
    The front door cracked open.
    “Halloo?” my mother said. “Oh! Is this a bad time?”
    Lars did not remove his face from his hands.
    “I came to get the keys to the basement. My goodness, is he all right? Don’t let’s drive off and leave him like that. Maybe I should call his mother.”
    “My mother!” Lars said, as if she had thrown a bucket of ice water to break his enchantment. His hands found his glasses, his glasses found his nose; he jumped up and passionately smacked the wall. “Why would anyone call my mother? My mother isn’t even speaking to me!”—and then, as if suddenly remembering his manners, he broke off, excused himself, and went into the bedroom. He closed the door, but very quietly.
    “Damn! Do you know how close I was to wrapping things up here? I asked you to wait in the van.”
    “I came to see if there’s anything you want me to carry out of the apartment,” my mother replied. “To put in that van.”
    Hurriedly I gave her my fondue pot, my hairdryer, Lars’s Foot Fixer, which he never used, the keys to the basement and my calfskin bag, which contained
Treasure Island
. “Don’t swing it around like mad,” I said.
    “I won’t.”
    Lars came out from the bedroom.
    “Excuse my recent outburst. I can talk again about the bird.”
    “That’s quite all right,” my mother said, as if the tiff had been between him and her. “Do you mind if I have a peek at Richard? I’ve never actually seen him.”
    “I thought you were going,” I reminded her.
    Lars pulled the cloth off the cage.
    “It’s big, it’s hot, it’s back!” Richard shrieked.
    “Oh my,” my mother said. “Look at you!”
    She laid down the things I had carefully balanced in her arms.
    “He’s a beautiful bird,” Lars said thoughtfully.
    “He’s the most beautiful bird I’ve ever seen!” my mother said. “Aren’t you? Yes, yes. I’m a beautiful bird. I’m a beautiful bird. Yes, I am. I have very large wings.”
    “I thought you were going.”
    “In a minute,” she said, standing at the cage and inhaling Richard’s musk as if he were a rose garden.
    “Why don’t you take Richard out?” Lars said to me—a covertly taunting remark, since Lars was the one who opened the cage. “You need to see you can do it. He’s not going to stay in there all day.”
    My mother said, “Oh go on, sweetheart!”
    Richard hulked on his perch, a twitchy brilliant mass of feathers. It took me half a lifetime to lift the latch and swing open the door. Even before he lunged I could tell he was going to sink his lunatic beak into my finger. When he did, I screamed and flung him to the floor. “Cheeseburger!” Richard said, flaring his wings. Then he bouldered up my leg and latched onto my hip.
    “For godsakes!”
    “Hush,” Lars said and removed the bird as if he were quietly pulling a bur from my coat. A demon bur.
    “Are you bleeding?” my mother said.
    “It’s just a nip,” Lars answered.
    “I’ll show
you
a nip, asswipe!”
    “I’m going to wait outside.” My mother gathered the appliances back into her arms, threw the calfskin bag over her shoulder, and opened the door, which had been left ajar, with her foot. She