2007 - Vol. 4, Issue 7

Excerpt from The Sword Swallower's Daughter

Daddy's motorcycle in our driveway on Valentine's Day could mean only one thing: he was here without his girlfriend, Marnie. I rushed inside and wrapped him in a hug. He handed me a red heart–shaped box with a picture of a girl whose eyes winked and mouth kissed when you turned the box this way and that.

Mama brought Daddy a cup of coffee. Daddy blew across the top of the cup and then sipped up the cooled surface. "Perfect, Edie. You always knew how much sugar I needed." He looked up at Mama with his flirting eyes and winked.

"Least I could do your coffee right," was all Mama said back.

"You did a lot of things right. Damn, I miss your cooking. I haven't had a good plate of spaghetti in ages."

Mama almost smiled. Everyone said she was a great cook and a fantastic singer, but the only thing I think she believed was the cooking part.

"We're having meatloaf tonight," said Candy. "I helped Mama smush it together." Candy held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. She turned to Daddy and asked what I wanted to ask but feared the answer. "Can you stay for dinner? It's Valentine's Day."

I glanced at Mama and sure enough, her neck was turning red like it always did when she got flustered.

Daddy glanced at Mama. "Sorry, Candy–kin, can't do that. But I sure would like to hear your Mama play and sing something."

"Yeah, Mama." Candy jumped off his lap and opened the piano cover. "Play 'Yellow Bird.'"

Mama nodded and dug in the piano bench where she kept her sheet music and pulled out a sheaf. Candy sat on the bench next to her; Daddy relaxed on the sofa and lit another cigarette. I snuggled next to him, inhaling the mélange of scents that was Daddy in those days. Old Spice, Camel smoke, and Brylcreem would linger as incense to a god, forever sacred in my memory.

"Yellow bird, up high in banana tree. Yellow bird, you sit all alone like me. Did your ladyfriend leave the nest again?  .  .  ."

Mama sang. Daddy pulled on the cigarette and fixed his eyes on Mama on the exhale, the smoke lifting and twisting and reaching toward her like I wanted him to do with his arms. The smoke dissipated before it reached her, like I knew he'd never reach out for her again. Mama's voice lifted the notes of the song with such sadness, like she was the yellow bird and someone was singing to her. Then I wondered if maybe Daddy had come here on Valentine's Day because his ladyfriend had left him and this was the only nest he'd known. I broke the spell when I asked him.

"So where's Marnie on Valentine's Day?"

Daddy looked at his watch. "Waiting for me."

Mama finished her song, lifted her hands from the piano with the grace of a diva, and turned to him. "Now don't keep Marnie waiting."