Flying Crows by Jim Lehrer Read Free Book Online Page A

the streamliners. They’re magic. The Santa Fe has the best, going to California and Chicago. You can see the fancy people inside, eating off tablecloths, reading the newspaper. Someday they’re going to make the streamliners all silver and run them on something besides steam. That’s what they’re talking about, at least.”
    Josh was delighted by Birdie’s excitement. “You should talk to Streamliner about trains.”
    Birdie shook his head at that suggestion.
    â€œWell, have you heard of a train called The Flying Crow?” Josh asked.
    â€œYeah, yeah. It’s the Kansas City Southern’s streamliner from Kansas City to Texas; it comes right by here, I think. ‘Straight as the Crow Flies.’ That’s the company’s motto.”
    Josh said, “Right, the tracks are at the bottom of the hill between here and town. The point is, Streamliner’s nickname came from his believing he’s a conductor on The Flying Crow. You heard him.”
    â€œYeah, but I didn’t know exactly what he was doing. I just figured he was crazy.”
    â€œThat’s right, he is. But he’s doing better.”
    Birdie turned away and settled deeper into the water, which was now just under his chin. He seemed to have lost interest in Streamliner’s story.
    But Josh went on anyhow.
    â€œStreamliner’s problem was caused by having witnessed something awful. He and his sister were walking to their one-room school on the other side of the track near a town called Hummer, not far up the line from here. She challenged him to a race and suddenly took off running. The Flying Crow, forty-five minutes behind schedule, came roaring through at that moment and struck her. Streamliner usually stops the story there but you don’t have to be a genius or an artist to imagine what the engine of that speeding train did to that little girl right before her brother’s eyes. All he ever said was that they barely found enough of her to bury in the cemetery.”
    Birdie put his hands up on his ears. “Please, please, no details—no more.”
    â€œWe’ve all got to talk about what happened to us, what we saw, what we did.”
    â€œThat’s even worse than what I saw, what happened to me.”
    â€œIt made Streamliner sick. He couldn’t get over it or talk about it—or anything else. I mean, he didn’t say a word to anybody about anything from that day until he spoke to me one day here at Somerset, ten years later. Imagine not saying a word for ten years. There are several around here who’ve gone even longer, but they’re mostly back in the incurables wing now. Anyhow, I was the one who finally got Streamliner to tell the story of what happened to him. Do you want to tell me what happened to you?”
    Birdie shook his head. “No, thanks. Not now.”
    â€œAll I’m saying, Birdie, is that you should talk to me—or to somebody else, if you want to—about what happened that causes you not to be able to close your eyes. That’s all. Maybe it can help you the way it helped Streamliner to at least be able to say something—even if it’s mostly only about trains.”
    Birdie started laughing.
Laughing.
“That’s a really great idea,” he said. “I can be an imaginary conductor on The Flying Crow? No thanks.”
    â€œAt least he’s functioning . . . more than he was before. Watch him. He walks around here all day calling out the names of towns, urging people to get on board, watch their step, have their tickets ready. He’s always joyful, smiling, talking or shouting, always moving, always clicking an imaginary ticket punch or busy with the business of getting his train on down the track.”
    Birdie was still ignoring Josh. But that didn’t stop Josh from talking.
    â€œThe bushwhackers mostly leave Streamliner alone. They and the doctors have figured that they have no better