The Man Who Loved Birds Read Free Page A

never to put down on paper nothing you don’t want nobody to read. And I’m in the habit of obeying my mamma. I just need you to take a look at my side.”
    “The paperwork is not for you, Mr.—”
    He took her hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “Johnny Faye. Pleased to meet you.”
    She extracted her hand from his grip. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Faye. Now, if you would—”
    “No Mister to it, nor Faye neither. Just Johnny Faye.”
    “You must have a last name.”
    “I got a belly button, if that’s what you mean.” He gave her a broad wink.
    “Mr. Johnny Faye. Please restrict yourself to the subject at hand.”
    He furrowed his brow in contrition. “I never made the acquaintance of my daddy. Which is just as well, according to my mamma.”
    “Whom you are in the habit of obeying.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Surely your mother would tell you to complete this form.”
    “I’m sure she’d never tell me to do no such thing. Besides, you aint my mamma, and if that aint the best news you’ll hear all day I want you to tell me better.”
    “I have no intention of being anyone’s
mamma
, thank you,the world has quite enough people without my contribution.” She waved him into the tiny hallway that led to the examination rooms. “Let me take a look and we’ll proceed from there.”
    When she entered the examination room he was shirtless and standing. She pointed at the table. “If you would, please, take your seat, Mr.—Johnny Faye.”
    “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m more comfortable on my feet. A man can run faster with his pants up than a woman can with hers down.”
    She tightened her lips into a puckered line. “You will please keep personal comments to yourself.” Then she noticed his right side, where a yellow-blue bruise blossomed amid a broad scrape of clotted blood. “A nasty scrape. You have most likely cracked a rib. When did you injure yourself?”
    “This morning, ma’am. Or last night, depending on how you look at it.”
    She pressed the stethoscope to his chest. “Take a slow, deep breath, please.”
    He breathed in. “I aint going to be taking any
fast
breaths, that’s for certain.”
    She removed the stethoscope from his chest. “You have not punctured a lung. Most likely the rib is cracked, not broken.” She pressed her stethoscope to his back. “The ribs are encased in muscle, which expands and contracts the chest with each breath.” She pressed the stethoscope to his sides, then again to his chest. “When you breathe deeply, you’re moving that cracked rib, which is letting you know that it’s cracked. You should obtain an X-ray to be certain you have no jagged edges and unless you have had a tetanus booster recently you should renew that. You do not want a punctured lung and you do not want tetanus. Then you would have—” she paused, searching for an Americanism “—
real trouble
.”
    “I been in
real trouble
most of my life. My mamma tells me it’s my natural state. Considering the alternatives I kind of come tolike it. Ever noticed how much trouble people go to, to get into a little real trouble? From my point of view I’m performing a community service. Which I would be happy to perform for you.”
    She took up her pen and clipboard. “You will do me the courtesy of not taking me for a fool. Please tell me how this happened.”
    He gave her a sly, conspiratorial glance. “Promise not to tell a soul.”
    “As your doctor I am sworn to confidentiality.”
    He cupped his hand at her ear and whispered, “I was burying a golf cart.”
    She felt as if she were interrogating a child. “And what were the circumstances that led to your burying a golf cart?”
    He grinned, showing big horse teeth with a wide gap. The front center tooth was chipped, making him look a little crazed. “It’s a good one but this time you got to cross your heart.”
    “Mr. Faye. You may be certain—”
    “
Johnny
Faye. Go on, do it.”
    She pantomimed a cross over her