The Pendant

A short story featuring the Thunderbird (Piasa Bird)

Constance wanted to get up and go to the bus driver and shake him by the shoulder. She wanted to scream at him that she had to get to Fulton, that she had to get to  the Thunderbird, that she didn't have time to wait for the bus to move so slow. She wanted to snatch his cigarette, and stash it up his nostrils, take his cap and throw it out the window.

Instead, she placed one hand on her black felt purse. The other moved up to her throat, to grasp the single pendant dangling from the thin chain. She turned it in her fingers, twisting the chain even tighter about her throat.

 

Constance looked out the window, not seeing the shopping center, the cracker box subdivision district, the intersecting highways, but seeing all the same.

  ********(Remembering)

"Then you'd better take this." Her hands had gone up to the clasp at the back of her neck, and had undone the heavy gold chain with the spangles upon it.

The long coat, that had lurched away to a tree trunk, turned back, framed by low hanging branches, by the lake at the bottom of the hill, by the rest of the park around them. Far beyond had been the Hotel Grande.

The hand came out of the pocket, a crocodile's head. The jaws closed in on the tinkling jewelry piece, and sank back into their hole.

"I suppose I had better-you had it all wrong."

"But you see." She had stood up from the bench she had been sitting on, taking up her purse. "I thought that you seemed to want, and I -- and we've been going five months, Carl, and I know I shouldn't have been the one to ask you to--"

"No, don't. No, Constance, I don't want to marry  you. I wasn't looking for that."

"Goodbye." The long coat had started turning away. Then it turned back. "I suppose you'll be needing to get back to Marionsville. Can I take you there?"

"Well-- she'd sat again, looking at the soft cloth of her purse. "Why don't you just take me downtown. I'll take a bus."

"Sounds like a good idea." His arm had crooked out, stiffening, posing. "Come on."

"I don't want your arm." She had stood, clutching her bag with one hand, putting the other into a pocket, her bare throat feeling naked. "Let's get going."

The car with Carl was leaving, and she was standing close to the glass doors of the bus station. She looked around.

The traffic on the boulevard's four lanes were leading in two directions. Broad sidewalks, halfway as wide as the street, separated the pavement from the tall buildings on either side. Tall department stores, high business offices. Occasionally at the bottom of the buildings, there were stairwells to basement restaurants. Jackets, dresses, moving parcels were everywhere. And at the far end of the street was the sports stadium that looked like the top of a carousel  slide projector.

A pigeon had flown off one of the many roofs, and it had reminded her when they were in Marionsville.

Carl had said, "Come on, let's go see the Thunderbird."

"Thunderbird -- what is it?"

"It's an Indian painting at Fulton. It resembles an eagle."

"Let's get started then."

She looked around again, her eyes moving back to the sports stadium, to a red stairwell, to a high department store. She took a step towards the glass doors.

A moment later, she was hearing the man saying, "No, I'm sorry, you can't catch a bus for Marionsville until five o'clock this evening. Why don't you go around downtown or something, see the sights. Have you seen all of St. Louis?"

"No, thank you, anyway. I might be back later."

"All right."

Then she was back on the boulevard, looking past the clock reading twelve noon, looking to the stadium.

"Hey Constance." He had said, and it had been before the park bench. "There's a ball game this afternoon. Want to go?"

"Okay."

Constance started moving down the sidewalk, among the rest of the pedestrians. 

At the bottom of the stairs there were a pair of rustic painted doors, black lettering across the panels. When she was through them, a man with a black jacket almost pounced on her. She remembered him, saw that he didn't recall her. "Can I help, Madam? Show you a table?"

"Oh." She had taken a random chair. "I'd like a bowl of soup."

"No crepes souzettes, no a la mode, no?"

"Just a bowl of soup, vegetable soup, and warm."

The bowl was brought to her, made of a silver metal. As she started lifting the spoon, she remembered what Carl said.

"Let's go here then."

"Fine."

"It's a good place. What would you like to have?"

"Soup."

Constance stopped lifting her spoon, holding it still. She noticed, that besides her, there was only one other table occupied. She looked, still holding the spoon still.

The couple was laughing, and there was a large diamond on the girl's hand. Her purse was white and shiny, and the man's hands were in the girl's, and their elbows were crooked up like two rearing snakes. Their heads were leaning forward, and their lips were crushing each other's. The girl's eyes were wide open, the man's hand was leaving hers, closing in on the girl's breast.

They were laughing, and Constance looked around at the other empty tables. Two large exotic plants were guarding the waiters' entrance beyond the white cloths and the pushed in chairs. At the bottom of the half doors, she could see the waiter's black pants, and at the top, she could see his face, directed towards the couple.

She settled her spoon back into the liquid. She shoved back from the table, and opened her purse. She laid some bills on the cloth, then walked away, her heels clacking on the wooden floor. 

At the top of the stairs, she came to a street corner, where cars, buses, and trucks were passing over white lines. Still to the end of the street was the sports stadium. The box opposite her was changing colors, and she was spearheading a sea sweeping on to meet the flood from the other direction. Then the waves broke in on each other, making tossing and churning motions. Then she was out on the other side, looking up at the store, then down to its multiple entranced bottom. Her hand moved to her neck, skin meeting skin.

Inside, her eyes ran up and down the black slate board with gold lettering. A man in a blue jean coat was beside her, a pair of high school girls were in front of her. She found she wanted the sixth floor.

Then she was moving upward, without effort, ascending into a heaven of colors and noises. Close to the top, she skipped a step and brought herself into the second floor as the escalator slid away. Then she was going on to the higher heavens, the third, fourth, fifth.

Now she was seeing the brassy lettering on the sign to her right. It announced the floor was a jewelry shop.

She put her hand out to a thin man in a blue suit. His hair was ruffled, and needed combing.

"Excuse me."

Her hand followed his chest two feet, before there came a stop. "Yes, yes, what is it?" He was saying, his voice letting out the involuntary huff.

"Where are the necklaces?" She looked at him, glad he didn't seem to notice her bare neck.

"Necklaces behind the escalator on the south wall, rings on the east wall, miscellany on the west and north walls, is that all, miss?"

"Thank you." The chest with the blue suit nodded and hurried away.

She started moving around the escalator, the thing they had done when they'd been here. Carl had said, "What would you like? A box, a bracelet..."How about a necklace?"

She moved towards the east wall. A blonde head was saying, "Gee, Carl, I don't know. I kind of like that one, it's big and pretty."

Constance started, sunk back to herself again, as she saw the short jacket that was saying, "But don't you see this one here. This little one."

An older woman was speaking also. Her long, black coat was free of dust, she wore a bright red cap on her white hair. Constance moved closer to her. "I rather like that one." The woman bent forward slightly, an old swan still graceful. She was taking a ring up, a stone in it. "This one, thank you." The old woman was settling back into the river, lifting her purse.

Then Constance saw the necklace at the old woman's neck. It was a heavy gold chain, with a studded locket at the end.

Constance's hand was at her neck again, Constance was choking herself again. She moved rapidly to the south wall. She scanned the shelves, her eyes suddenly alighting on two silver chains. One had a swan as a pendant, the other an eagle. Red stones were in the both of them. 

As she left the store, the sports stadium was only three stoplights away. She passed on by the few remaining business offices, and now was crossing the first set of white lines, passing the first yellow sentry.

She could now see was leaving the downtown sector. Looking to the one side, she could see the red brick buildings, vacant windows staring at her like rectangular pupils without corneas. Children in rags were playing some kind of game in the street. Past them, and the building, she could see the giant Vess soda bottle going around and around, towering above the ghetto market.

Now she was crossing the next set of white lines. This time she looked to the other side, and she was seeing a bridge, spanning out to the horizon. If it had been built low, she thought, it would have been the kind swans liked to nestle under.

And down the street that ran under the last set of white lines there were large buildings that couldn't be named a particular color. Small windows were set in them, and these were close to the flat roofs. Paper shades concealed any contents in the building.

Then Constance was walking parallel with the slots in the carousel, formed by the spacing of the thin steel, supporting columns. She circled the whole stadium, then went to the largest slot, and turned into it. She went to the counter.

"Ticket, lady? Game starts pretty soon, crowd's filling the stands up." She vaguely recalled the jackets and dresses and moving parcels she had been moving with, when seeing the Vess bottle, the bridge, the warehouses.

"When will it be over? Could you tell me?"

"About four o'clock, lady. Want a ticket? There's folks behind you."

She was once again taking some bills from her purse. 

In the stands, she was in a great sized bowl, splashed with a multitude of colors on the sides, painted a green on the bottom.

Swans were coming out into the bowl, out on the playing fields. She had always liked baseball players.

The ball sped across to home as soon as the song was played. The club hit it, and the ball became a cygnet, making an invisible rainbow, arcing. Two of the swans were running, one of the birds heading for the patch of grey water in the algae-covered lagoon. The other swan was flying out to the cygnet, was catching it, nestling it, and the other swan didn't go to the patch of gray, first base.

 

Then the swans were dancing here, running there, flying there. And then several of them were crashing into each other on one of the little patches of gray water.

Constance couldn't see the swans now. All she could see was bare calves, coats, polka dot shirts, blazers.

"It's a homer!"

"That's it! That's it! It's a run!" One of the shouting voices was behind her, and the main's hairy legs were pushing against the back of her coat.

"Mama - I dropped my - the mouth was opening and dropping the first bite too.

Then they were down, and Constance opened her purse, and pulled out the small white bag. She took out a purple case, then stuffed the bag back in with various articles. She took the necklace out. She attached it behind her neck, put the case in the bag.

She stood, and the hairy legs behind her was saying, "Hey, girl, get out of the way."

She started moving, the sun reflecting off her red, red, stone.

"Hey, what are you standing up for? Charlie hasn't hit a grand slam yet."

She was descending down the bowl, ever moving to the algae-covered lagoon, with the dancing swans all over it. Close down, she turned into the slot again.

"Hey, lady, you sick or something, and can't see the rest of the game?"

"What? Oh, no, I have to get to an appointment. I just remembered."

"Gee, that's too bad."

"I hope your team wins." Passing.

"Thanks, lady."

Now she was seeing the street from the reverse end. Where it curved far away, she could see nothing. And on the road, were lines, running down the middle of it, that weren't to be crossed. And there were jackets, dresses, and moving parcels, all passing their twins. And going to the heavens of noises and colors. And going to the hells and performing an act for a one man audience, performing for no pay.

Fools, fools. She crossed over some white lines, seeing warehouses, a bridge, a Vess bottle. She went through the revolving doors of a business office, stopped in the carpeted lobby a moment, then went back out.

Then she saw the car leaping out from the side, wrapping itself around a car heading for the stadium.

Screams were coming from the parcels. Other screams came, men in blue uniforms came, the cars started filing behind each other, started honking. The whole city became an enormous honk. She covered her ears, looking at the pendant again.

A moment later, she was at the bus station, and the man was saying, "Yes, there's a bus for Fulton in a half hour."

                               ********(Back to present)

Constance felt a pressure in her hand, and she saw she still gripped the pendant. She looked out, and saw she could see the Mississippi River now. Across it, and beyond the island they were to cross, was Fulton. A dark spot below all the lights told her where the Thunderbird was.

They were crossing the island. She still held the pendant. The island was past. The Mississippi was past.

"Fulton." The driver was saying.

The cab left, and Constance, looking out to the dark spot, could not tell how far in she had to go, how far in the Thunderbird was.

She looked around, noticing things she hadn't seen when she'd been there with Carl. There were hissing noises, coming from the factories down the bluff road, and across, and down the river, which were sending vertical clouds up into the air. There was a damp, dank smell, and Constance saw it permeated from the gas station that stood by a piece of jutting bluff. The bluff, she knew, went inwards, making a large semicircle, the Thunderbird at the center of it, and coming out close to the road, a hundred feet away from her.

There was also a wharf, the boats, with the chipped paint, bobbing up and down in the water, the sign on the wharf, "Thunderbird Wharf." And there were also trees, dead trees, around the factories, all skeletons.

She clenched the pendant. She started moving to the shack at the other edge of the semicircle. She found the building there to be a closed up concession stand, and her foot kicked an object. She knelt, picked up a metallic image of the Thunderbird, some child had bought and lost. She kept it, and looked to the path that winded up before her. She started up it, walking along the brim of the rise that kept rising at a sharper angle. Then the path was leveling out, and she saw the round, flat boulder up ahead. Below it, on the wall, there was the Thunderbird.

She walked to it, stepped up. She looked down, seeing only blackness. Her hand stretched out, and her fingers spread out, and the Thunderbird toy melted into the black below.

Her hand pulled at the pendant, and she pulled off her necklace, looking at the blackness below. She heard a dim splash, where the toy hit the small pool that was below the Thunderbird.

Her arms stretched out again, swinging the necklace.

                                 *******Break*****

"Look at it, Constance, look at it."

"It's beautiful." The Thunderbird was there, a painting of browns, whites and reds. The wings spread out from the body, and the head was directed towards her, lines dangling from its chin, forming a beard. Horns projected from its head. In several areas, the lines were gone, where the bluff was crumbling away.

                                ********Break******

"Carl, look!"

On the way to Fulton, from the automobile, they had seen the swan come up out of the tree tops, like a small white airplane. They had looked to the side, and had seen the long, narrow lake, curving into a woods.

"It's a swan," she'd said. She had seen the swan fly on over the lake, and not stop at it.

"Wait till you see the Thunderbird," Carl had returned. 

Constance's arms were still stretched out. She looked at the dangling swan pendant, wavering back and forth, as if it were swimming. Constance released it, and she saw it fall, glittering, to sink into the blackness, to sink into the invisible pool of water below. 

copyright reserved by publisher

Cathleen D Collins Wesemann