Epilogue
EPILOGUE
C hinkapin Grove, Illinois
June 1990
“They’re building a tunnel from England to France,” said Jamie, not looking up from her colored pencils and paper on the kitchen table. She was drawing what appeared to be a crow or rook, although it was purple, yellow, and orange. “Under the ocean. Can they build a tunnel from here to England, Uncle Simeon?”
Crow was actually Jamie’s first cousin rather than her uncle, but due to the age difference, the family had settled on this title—and Simeon was gifted with the same honorific. He chewed and swallowed a bite of pizza. “A bit too far, I expect. You’ll have to fly if you want to go.”
“Will you take me?”
He gave her a warm smile. He had no desire to live in London again, but he was a bit curious to see what it looked like now, over a century after he’d last seen it. He’d read somewhere that much of his old neighborhood had been demolished—a process that the nobs liked to call improvements or ventilation —and rebuilt with council housing. Later, during the Blitz, the Nazis dropped tons of bombs there. He was certain that he wouldn’t recognize any of it now, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“Uncle Crow and I will take you when you’re older,” he promised.
“I am older. I’m ten!”
“Ancient.”
She stuck out her tongue at him and he did the same back, making her cackle with delight. Her father, Paul, sitting next to her, reached over and ruffled her hair. When she was younger, she used to have long braids, but now it was cut very short so it didn’t get in her way when she played softball.
Paul took a pull from his beer bottle. “If the squirt here is being too mean to you, Simeon, you’re welcome to join Crow and Helen on the porch. Much more refined company.”
“Oh, you two will do just fine. I’m not too refined myself.” Simeon and Paul exchanged grins. In the three days since Simeon and Crow had arrived in Chinkapin Grove, Simeon had learned that Paul, behind his somewhat bland facade, was actually quite high-spirited, including prone to silly jokes and joining his daughter in ridiculous dances after dinner. He seemed an adoring, attentive father as well. No wonder Helen was so fond of him.
“They’re talking about boring grown-up stuff,” said Paul. “You don’t mind that they’re making plans without you?”
Simeon shrugged and swallowed another bite of pizza. “I don’t mind Crow steering the ship for a while. He’ll steer it well. ”
Paul nodded. “There’s a lot to be said for having a partner who can keep you on course.”
“Can we go to England in a boat?” asked Jamie, a colored pencil pressed to the point of her chin.
“Aye, but we’d have to get to the Atlantic Ocean first. It’s quite a distance from here. And you know, boats are fine, but flying is the best way to travel. Going up in the sky gives one perspective, it does.”
She opened her mouth, maybe to ask what that meant, but then Crow and Helen came in from the porch, laughing over some shared joke. Simeon’s breath caught at the sight of Crow, who was stunningly beautiful in his happiness. That’s my mate , he gloated to himself for the thousandth time.
“Hey, watcha drawing?” Crow asked, leaning down to peer over Jamie’s shoulder. “Is that crow me?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “It’s a rook. Obviously. It’s Uncle Simeon.”
Which was interesting, because none of them had discussed him being a rook in her presence. In fact, Simeon was surprised she was even familiar with the species, since rooks weren’t native to the Americas.
Crow exchanged a quick glance with Simeon and then said, “Well, he’s a very handsome bird.” Then he stood up straight. “Feel like going for a ride, Sim?”
“Sure.” Simeon stood and cleared away his empty plate. He was trying to look nonchalant but in fact his heart raced with anticipation. Crow clearly had something in mind, and Simeon was eager to find out what.
They put on their shoes and walked outside, crickets chirping and the sweet smell of freshly cut hay wafting from a nearby farm. A full moon smiled down, providing plenty of light for them to make their way to the pickup truck parked at the curb. Simeon climbed into the passenger seat while Crow got behind the wheel .
“Jamie thinks you are the most wonderful creature on the planet,” Crow said with a smile as he started the engine.
“Smart girl, that.”
“Yeah, she is.”
Simeon rested his hand on Crow’s thigh. Not a sexual gesture—well, not quite—but more like a comfortable one, a sign of their connection.
Over the past few months they had gradually made their way east from Washington, pausing now and then to earn some money. In Nebraska they’d found positions in construction, helping build a road. It was hard work but had paid well, and since they’d scrimped on expenses, they’d eventually been able to afford this old but serviceable pickup. Simeon quite fancied the truck. Crow had even taught him how to drive, although Simeon preferred to, as Crow put it, ride shotgun.
They drove for only about a mile, and Simeon recognized their destination when Crow pulled into the crumbly remains of a driveway and cut the engine.
“Your family farm,” Simeon said.
“Does it bother you to come here? We faced some nasty shit in this place.”
“True enough. But we won. Doesn’t bother me at all.”
They dismounted from the truck and meandered hand in hand toward where the house had once stood. Gravel crunched under their boots and every step released the scent of crushed grasses and herbs.
They stood for a bit, gazing at nothing but seeing ghosts: in Crow’s case, the home where he’d spent his first eighteen years, and in Simeon’s case, a cottage far away, destroyed by fire long ago.
“Helen still owns this land,” Crow said softly. “Says she couldn’t let it go. You know, the three of them moved to St. Louis for a year? Paul’s job was there. But Helen got homesick for this stupid dying town, and they returned. Moved back into Paul’s old family house.”
“They seem happy.”
“Yeah. It’s funny. Anyone else would just drive right though Chinkapin Grove without hardly noticing it. But some of us… it’s in our bones. We get called here no matter where we go.” He paused, his hair looking white in the moonlight and his eyes gleaming. “Could you live in a nowhere like this?”
Simeon shifted his position a bit and put his hands on Crow’s shoulders. “I’ve said it before. Wherever you are is home to me. Besides, I don’t mind the countryside. Plenty of room to fly.”
“Helen told me tonight that my grandparents’ will left half of everything to me. There’s some legal complications since I disappeared for so long, but Helen says as far as she’s concerned, my claim is still valid.”
It was a warm evening, and Simeon felt warm inside too, as if he’d been filled with heated honey. He leaned his forehead against Crow’s and whispered, “Where will our ship go, captain?”
Crow chuckled. “It’s more of a tractor than a ship. We build a little house right here. Nothing fancy. We can do a lot of the work ourselves. And we— Well, we can’t compete directly with the big farms around here. They use intensive agriculture to grow corn, and they’ve got zillion-dollar machinery. But what if we worked just a few acres? Helen can keep leasing out the rest of the land. We’d grow organic veggies. We could find a way to sell them to restaurants in Chicago, I bet. And we could make money on the side working construction, road crews, whatever it takes. I’m not positive we’d make a go of it, but we can try. We’ve accomplished way harder things than this. ”
It was a longish speech from a man who rarely made them. Then he paused, waiting for an answer.
“Aye,” said Simeon.
“Aye what?”
“Aye to everything. Every bit of it.”
The moon made Crow’s bright smile radiant. “Really?”
“Do people still need smiths, do you reckon? I might like to learn that.”
Crow whooped, grabbed Simeon around the middle, and spun him around. But since Simeon was heavier, they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs, laughing too hard to get back up.
And really, why did they need to get up? They kissed instead, and then undressed each other. The ground wasn’t especially comfortable—with small stones and prickly weeds—but it didn’t matter. They were together, and they were home, and there was the promise of endless joyous moments ahead of them.
When Simeon entered Crow’s body, they soared together, filling the night sky with their raucous calls.
Afterward they stumbled naked back to the truck, giggling like a pair of schoolboys. Crow, who appeared to have hoped and planned for such a good outcome, had stretched an old blanket over the truck bed. They lay on their backs and gazed at the night sky as the slight breeze cooled their sweat-sticky skin.
“Things ended loads better for me than for Oedipus,” said Simeon after a while.
“We’re not a tragedy. That’s why.”
“We’re a surreal story, then, like Alice? Or a bit of a mystery, like Sherlock? Maybe strange adventures, like Jules Verne?”
Crow rolled onto his side and gazed at Simeon. “We’re a poem. Obviously. ”
“Ah, poetry is nonsense for toffs,” Simeon teased.
“Nope.” Crow tickled him. “Listen to this:
It is not to diffuse you that you were born of your mother and
father—it is to identify you;
It is not that you should be undecided, but that you should be decided;
Something long preparing and formless is arrived and form'd in you,
You are henceforth secure, whatever comes or goes.
The threads that were spun are gather'd, the weft crosses the warp,
the pattern is systematic.
The preparations have every one been justified,
The orchestra have sufficiently tuned their instruments—the
baton has given the signal.
The guest that was coming—he waited long, for reasons—he
is now housed,
He is one of those who are beautiful and happy—he is one of
those that to look upon and be with is enough.
The law of the past cannot be eluded,
The law of the present and future cannot be eluded,
The law of the living cannot be eluded—it is eternal,
The law of promotion and transformation cannot be eluded,
The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded ,
The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons—not one iota thereof
can be eluded. ”
Simeon, who loved hearing Crow recite poetry—loved watching him recite poetry—thought he might be up for a second round of lovemaking. He had a thought first, however. “I don’t reckon that Bran’s a mean person. He simply never found himself.”
“Maybe you’ve given him a chance to do that. The US is a big place. You never know what you’ll stumble into.”
“Hmm.” Simeon rolled over too, so he and Crow were nose to nose. “Miss Lachance said that time’s funny in London because it’s packed with history. But this place is too, innit? My people were never here, but humans certainly were. Some of your people might have been as well.”
“It’s a special place.”
Simeon hummed his approval. “That poem, was that your beloved Whitman again?”
“Yep. Want to know the name of the poem? ‘To Think of Time’.”
Of course. “You’re one of those he mentions in the poem. To look at you and be with you is enough. Will always be all I need. Every minute I spend with you, I tremble on the precipice of heaven.”
Crow settled a hand on Simeon’s hip and whispered in his ear. “Now who’s speaking in poetry?”
Simeon wanted to ask if they might build their house out of timber and stone, like an old English cottage. He wanted to discuss which vegetables they might grow, and whether they could include some of the herbs his mother had once had in her garden. He wanted to see if they could plant some nice trees near the house, the kind that are good for perching on between flights. He wanted to consider whether there might be two-natureds here, drawing on the ancient history of this land, and whether they might become associates.
But all of that could wait. Crow was in his arms now, warm, laughing, soft and hard in exactly the right places, smelling of pizza and grass and sex, gently nibbling his way across Simeon’s collarbone.
And together, they had all the time in the world.