Caged
The dull mumbling of somber voices was broken only by the sporadic trill of a songbird’s bright chirping. The distant autumn sun sent slants of white light through the thinning foliage of the huge oaks and hickory trees surrounding the cemetery, bathing in a singularly pure and intense light the multicolored leaves that swirled around the mourners’ feet. The sun had already lost its summer warmth and now shone with a cold brightness that presaged the desolation of winter. A small crowd of men and women draped in black coats and dresses presented a stark contrast to the color and opulence of the natural setting.
As Morgan stood with his head bowed down and his eyes focused on the sheen of his own black shoes, a confusing and painful series of thoughts projected themselves on his aching mind. Remorse and guilt mingled with feelings of loss and helplessness. He felt as if he’d been through all of this before. The expanse of greenery and the chirping of birds transported him to a time far away. He was haunted by an elusive sorrow, a dull but insistent despair.
A movement beside a nearby tree caught his attention and his eyes darted back and forth in search of the cause. The throbbing in his head seemed to increase as he sought for something with his eyes and with his mind. Then the tenseness in his face eased and his lips curved in a slight smile. He had identified the cause of his distraction. A small, furry figure scurried around the base of the tree and stood momentarily in a prayer-like stance. It was a gray squirrel collecting its store of food for the coming year.
Now he relaxed and his thoughts floated freely. Pictures of forgotten places intruded on his inner vision. He saw his father, mother, and sister sitting by the old console TV; the pattern of a small rug, long since forgotten, emerged clearly in his memory; the household furniture, one time so familiar but long ago discarded, came to life again.
He was no longer standing stiffly at a graveside but, as a boy of eight, was visiting his grandmother in Vermont. It was his first summer away from home, away from the drab and dirty city. He saw clearly the sturdy white A-frame house with its forsythia hedge and fragrant trellis of clematis. Two gnarled apple trees stood between the front porch and the quiet country road. That summer was like an awakening. A budding sensuality, fostered by the vibrant New England countryside, stirred in him.
Morgan remembered that summer of twenty years ago, the sights, the sounds and smells. And suddenly he understood why these memories came back to him at this time. The little squirrel that peeked at him from behind the hickory tree reminded him of his little friend from that Vermont summer: a fluffy-tailed squirrel that visited him every morning. Morgan used to quietly watch the playful rodent and with youthful patience and enticements of peanuts, had succeeded in gaining the creature’s trust. At first skittish and wary, the squirrel had become bold and confident enough to snatch morsels from the boy’s hand. He eventually became dependent on the boy and chased him about to obtain his daily ration of food.
A frown clouded Morgan’s face as he recalled that childhood summer as it faded into autumn. Not content to merely observe the squirrel, he constructed a rough cage out of packing crates and chicken wire. He enticed and then confined the wild creature inside the crate. He knew that he was depriving the animal of its freedom but thought that the attention and care which he gave it was ample compensation for that which it lost. After all, the squirrel was not as well fed and sheltered in its natural state as it was in his protective custody. Nevertheless, the squirrel became more and more listless and after two weeks of captivity, it lay dead in the wooden cage. A mixture of sadness and guilt assailed the boy as he peered into the cage and discovered the lifeless body of his pet. The squirrel had been something special to him. It had made his days interesting and filled his nights with an anticipation of something dependable yet unpredictable. Now it was gone. His selfishness and tyranny had killed the creature. Warm tears stung the boy’s eyes on that autumn day.
Morgan wakened from his reverie. His moist eyes fastened on the wooden casket as the first shovelful of earth was thrown over the remains of his young wife. What a free spirit she had been, before their marriage. A squirrel chirped noisily in the distance.
© 2018 Mark Feder