The Undertakers
The wind outside was getting colder and a robin had dropped dead onto the front porch. Hannah stepped outside and stopped to stare at it, her eyes bound to the figure ragged on the concrete. The air smelled of rain.
“Dad,” she called through the screen door. “Come see the birdy.”
John appeared at the door. Hannah still stared down.
“Is it moving, Hannah?”
“I don’t think so.”
She bent over to pick up a stick and her arms shook as she broke the stick in half.
“Don’t poke it.”
“I wasn’t,” she lied. “But why not?”
“It’s just not polite.”
She turned around and stared at her father, an uneven brow.
“If something dies, are we supposed to be polite to it?”
“Just don’t touch it, okay?”
“Okay, Dad.”
John went inside and snapped several paper towels from the roll next to the kitchen sink. He returned to the front porch where Hannah still stood examining the bird. John gently plucked the robin from the stoop and turned it over, cupping it in the paper towels, the underside of the animal still flat like the cement where it had laid. John moved towards the side of the house, toward the large trashcan. He opened the lid, lightly balancing the bird in the other hand.
“Dad?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is it polite to throw animals in the trash?”
John stopped, gawked at his daughter.
“Well…more kind than leaving it on the ground, right?”
“I guess.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Hannah thought for a moment, her face squeezed together like her mother. She turned without a word and disappeared around the corner. John waited. When she jumped back from the front of the house, she carried in her hand a pink plastic spade. She stopped a foot from her father and held it up towards his face.
“I see,” said John. “Where to, undertaker?”
She stretched her arm out straight, pointing toward the backyard. John followed her and opened the gate with his free hand and let his daughter slide underneath him with the dead thing in his other hand. The air was cold but the sun was shooting small rays of light across the green grass where the clouds allowed it through their grayness. Hannah was wearing her pink raincoat and it creaked and rubbed as she stomped her way towards the back of the yard. Once they arrived at the swingset on the left-hand side of the plot’s backend, Hannah stopped and took inventory of the possibilities.
“If we bury it by the swingset, it will get stepped on a lot,” she said. “How about…here.”
She had taken five steps away from the playground equipment and she kicked away a small pile of leaves. The grass was brown and matted where the leaves had laid. She kneeled down and then stared up at John, awaiting something.
“It looks like a fine place to be buried, my dear.”
“I’ve seen lots of birds back here, Daddy. Probably his friends. They can visit.”
“That’s important,” John mumbled.
She stuck her shovel into the soil. She lacked the physical power to dig into the ground; she only lifted the topsoil from the spot and tossed it aside. She lifted both hands above her head and drove the spade into the dirt; it spiked into the ground but when she pulled it out, only a few clogs came pouring from the shovel’s head. John watched her as long as he could before putting his hand out and offering to help. She was hesitant but allowed it. John set the bird down behind him and dug a hole, approximately a square foot in size and just as deep. Hannah sat beside him and ran her fingers over the pile of dirt he had created in front of her. He stood up, his knees tight and sore as he stood. He leaned backwards to stretch out his legs and back.
“So,” he looked at his daughter. “Should I do the honors?”
She stared up at him. She shrugged her shoulders. John turned around and bent down to pick up the bird. He still had the paper towels underneath the creature and he picked up the paper at the corners and carefully moved it close to the hole and dumped it in. He picked up the spade again.
“Do you want to say something?”
Again, Hannah stared at her father.
“That’s what people normally do at funerals, see.”
“People say something nice?”
“Yes, something nice.”
“What if the person was mean?”
“Well, then,” John smirked. “Still have to say something nice, I guess.”
“I’ve never done that before. You can do it, Dad.”
Hannah pushed herself up from the ground and brushed off her hands on the front of her pants. John scratched his chin. They both stared down at the bird. John noticed the bird’s feet and, as he looked closer, saw that the bird only had two talons on one foot. A gust of wind blew the dirt on the ground off of the pile. The cold air was becoming more apparent and John could feel it climbing into his shirt.
“This bird,” he began. “This bird was a great flier.”
John thought and Hannah looked up at her father.
“He helped build many a nest and was always kind to his family and friends.”
John dug the shovel into the loose soil pile beside the grave.
“He will be missed by the entire animal kingdom.”
John poured the first bit of dirt on the bird. He had a smile on his face when he looked back down at Hannah. She did not find it amusing and John quickly changed his appearance because he knew she was right. John again stuck the spade into the dirt pile and placed the load onto the bird and its grave. He continued to do this until the hole was full and the bird was no longer visible. Once the dirt was completely returned to its position, or as much as possible, he patted the dirt down with the back of the shovel as he had seen done.
“Dad?” asked Hannah.
“Yes, Hannie Fannie?”
“Can we go play with the chalk in front?”
“Sure, kiddo. But just until Mommy gets home, okay?”
“Okay, deal.”
John grabbed the paper towel from off the ground, crumpled it up, and they began to walk back towards the front yard. Before they got the wooden fence, Hannah turned around and strutted back towards the burial site.
“What are you doing, girl?”
Hannah stopped and turned around. Her body shivered, a quick chill.
“I decided I want to say something to the birdy.”
“Okay,” John replied. “Go on.”
Hannah walked back to the site and John waited by the gate. His experience told him that she probably didn’t want him to hear what she was going to say. He listen closely but stayed at the gate. Just as Hannah reached the bird’s new home, the wind died down and the leaves stopped rustling.
“I love you, bird,” she said.
