Sprains and Bruises

This week:

Opening the dictionary at random and poking down a finger brought me to the word "arnica," a sort of plant. This seemed less than useful till the second definition told me that the flowers of this plant are made into a tincture "much used as an external application in sprains and bruises."

Which did it right there.

This is the 47th chapter of Neighbors, which means that you can find the previous bits under their appropriate number as follows: The previous sections are as follows: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, and 46.

     Now, maybe you've gotten the idea from reading through 

all this stuff that I'm not what anyone would call a forceful 

guy.  And you'd be right.

     I mean, 'wimp' might be too strong a word, but not by 

much.  I don't like arguing or confrontation, and not just 

because I'm so bad at it.  I am bad at it, make no 

mistake about that--when I get mad, my throat tightens up, and 

when my throat tightens up, even my regular croaking belch of 

a voice dries to powder and blows away.

     But I couldn't use that excuse when arguing in animal 

speech because, well, so few sounds are involved.  Still, not 

wanting to get into an argument made me hesitate there in my 

wheelchair on the sidewalk, one crow perched on my left 

shoulder, another on my right arm, a squirrel hanging from the 

front of my jacket, and a big black cat stretched out in my 

lap.

     "Gotta hand it to you, Poosy," Jefe was saying, his 

talons tightening and loosening on a steady rhythm just above 

my wrist.  "This is something we can work with."

     El Brujo looked smug, but then El Brujo always 

looks smug.  "Selflessness and devotion to my charges are but 

two of my more sterling qualities."

     Honoria's talons were doing the same sort of back-and-

forth as her brother's.  "Jefe and me and the other crows, we 

can wing down at night and make our case to all the local 

dogs!  Well, all right, not all of them: wouldn't wanna 

drum up more business than we can handle, would we?"

     Serena's tail kept tickling the bottom of my chin, kept 

making me swallow against something that didn't quite feel 

like a sneeze.  "And those dogs who agree to begin acting 

badly, Mr. Augie will then appear at their homes and inform 

their humans that he can train them not to act badly!  

Money will occur, and then food for everyone!  It will be--!"

     "No," I finally said.  "Guys, we...we can't!"

     They all swung their dark eyes toward me, El Brujo's ears 

folding slightly.  "In point of fact, August, we can, and 

quite easily, too.  You have any number of friends amongst the 

neighborhood canines, and, well, as I've said almost 

constantly since the first moment my eyes opened: any excuse 

to act vicious and insane will be eagerly embraced by--"

     "But--"  Animal speech had always come so easily to me in 

the past, but now, I almost wanted to switch to regular human 

talk.  It just seemed to me that, since it was so hard for me 

to do, saying hard words that way would somehow be easier.  

Yeah, I know: not a lotta sense in that.  But I've never 

claimed to be the most logical of people, either.  "It's 

wrong, Brujo!  Wrong to use this gift or skill or 

whatever it is that lets me talk to you all for something 

so...so plain sneaky!  I mean, creating a phony problem just 

so I can get paid to fix it??"

     Jefe was blinking at me.  "Phony problems're the best 

kind, 'Mano.  Real problems're always too damn hard."

     "Indeed."  El Brujo shifted along my legs till she was 

looking directly back and up at me.  "When it's a matter of 

survival--"

     "What?"  That got me blinking.  "What does survival have 

to do with this??  We're just--!"

     "Everything."  Serena swarmed up to my lapels, her face 

right in front of mine.  "It's always about survival, Mr. 

Augie.  Always."

     A rapid clicking sound from Honoria.  "You use what you 

got however you can.  Otherwise, somebody else uses what they 

got, and maybe you suddenly don't got what you had anymore."

     I couldn't keep from waving my hands, dislodging Jefe and 

Honoria, the crows flapping and cawing in circles around me.  

"That's not how it works!"  I poked a finger as hard as I 

could into the chair's armrest.  "If a dog's really and 

honestly acting up, or if it's a little puppy like Heather who 

could really use some training, then yeah, that's OK!  But I'm 

not gonna be part of any--!"

     "Hey, hey, hey!" a human voice shouted, and I snapped my 

head over to see one of the neighborhood kids rushing toward 

me, a stick brandished in his hands.  "Get outta here!  Get!"

     Jefe and Honoria shot away like stones from a slingshot, 

their wings slapping my head; Serena squeaked and vanished, 

leaving a tiny painful trail of claw pricks across my chest, 

and even El Brujo streaked away, bounding across the street, 

up the Cosgroves' fence, and over it into their bushes.

     "Wow!"  The kid swung his stick around a few more times.  

"'When Animals Attack,' huh?"  He looked down at me, his eyes 

wide in his freckled face.  "You OK, mister?"

     "Training them," I managed to get out, my chest as tight 

as my throat.  I mean, what else could I say?  And how 

stupid had I been to be sitting out on a public sidewalk with 

all those animals hanging off me?

     "What?"  The kid's eyes got even wider.  "You can train 

crows?"

     Instead of telling him that I could train anything--I'd 

just trained myself to lie at the drop of a hat, after all, 

hadn't I?--I said, "Sometimes.  They're not dangerous, anyway, 

not to me.  But thanks."

     He shrugged, turned, and headed back up the street.  I 

sat there a while longer waiting, but when none of them came 

back, I spun slowly and wheeled my way toward Deena's house.

Which will takes us inevitably on to 48.