King of Infinite Space *** Mockingbirds dont do one thing but make music for us to enjoy.

They dont eat up peoples gardens, dont nest in corncribs, they dont do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. Thats why its a sin to kill a mockingbird. Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird The English sparrow is not beautiful, cannot sing, and lives almost entirely on the hospitality of the farm. No one should lightly condemn a bird, but this one unquestionably deserves to die. Chas N. Gould, Oklahoma Geological Survey *** There was no question about it: the tree would have to go. It had been foolish to plant a Bradford pear. It had blossoms, yesthousands of white blossoms reaching out in every direction across the sky, and wood too weak to hold them up. Still, it was a shame the lightning storm had come during the one week in April the tree had flowers. It seemed like a sin to cut down a tree while it was blossoming. But there was no question about it: the tree would have to go. As soon as Leah finished her dinner and they went home, he would call for a man and the tree would be gone. She was eating slowly. Her arms were weak, and when she lifted her hand to her mouth, her puffy, wrinkled face seemed to move away like pear blossoms fluttering in the wind. It was not just the tree. There was more that needed to be done. The yard had not been tended in quite some time, and the house had not been cleaned. It was cluttered up with boxes of unused junk, old photographs, expired mayonnaise bottles, knickknacks and dollar-store statuettes, looking all mismatched and piled up willy-nilly the way a cemetery does from the road. All of it would have to be cleared away. Of course, first he would have to ask Leah what she wanted to keep. Of course. When he got home, he would ask her. When they could look at it all piece by piece. Maybe not today, because it was her birthday, and she was all dressed up in pale silk that made her look so soft and thin and light she seemed like she was about to float away. It reminded him of when he was little and it was his turn on the see-saw, and he went up, up, up, until the sky was only blue because he saw it through his own blue eyes, and he felt as light as an angel dancing on the head of a pin, and then the sudden fall back down to earth. And his wife was looking at him. Something, too, would have to be done about the dust. The cabinets and tables were covered in it. All this would have to be cleaned. He would not have to ask Leah about that. He could do it as soon as he got home. It would not take him long. It was not even that the house was dirty. It was not dirty. The dust was simply something that happened over time, no matter how neat he was. It was just the tiny particles of his life which had been sloughed off but still stayed with him, like a snakeskin in a million parts. In the low red light of the restaurant, Leah seemed to hover vaguely in front of him, and for a moment he was uncertain how to put together the lineaments of her face. It was as if he was not looking at one face, but at the face of her younger self all papered over with newer faces brought on by the interminable changes of the years. And then it blurred together and she was herself again. He could not remember how old she was today. Was she turning 75? Was that right? Noshe had been 75 years ago. He was thinking of the rule that if 75% of the tree is lost, it is best to cut it down. Some sources said 75%, and some said 50. Regardless, he would have to cut down the Bradford pear.

It was not his fault he could not remember. He was a good husband. He had always remembered his wifes birthday and never her age. All his life, he had never remembered her age. She had skin like Bible paper, and when she was younger, it had been so smooth and pale that he could not believe her age would ever be written on it. Now that she was older, it was crinkled with lines that crossed over each other so many times that, had there been any message there, it would have been impossible to make it out. When he got home, he would work it out longhand. He would have to do it later because he did not have pen or paper with him here. Besides, there were many similar tasks that needed to be done, and he could take care of all of them at once. He would need to find out about how much it would cost to have the man come down and take a look at the tree, and he would need also to hire a man to come and take a look at the house. Of course, before he could do any of that he would have to clear the dust away. How long had the dust been settling there? It seemed like it had always been there. His first memory was of dust. That was when the wind had breathed lifelessness into the topsoil and stirred it into storms of dust that would rattle on the doors and break in through the cracks. It got into his eyes, and he could not tell if he had been blinded or if the light could not get through the dust. And then he thought he could make out his fathers hand, and he reached out to grab hold of it; but there was a jolt of static that knocked him to the ground. Still his father did not leave. So many men had brought their families elsewhere because they could not survive here. But his father was not a farmer; he was a judge; and that was why, when the fields lay barren and the sky was torn into pieces, he did not move. Leah had still not touched her food. Why was she being so difficult? She had always said that she liked this place. And he had asked her if the soup would be alright, and she hadnt said anything. She should have said something if she didnt want the soup. She should have told him what she wanted. He lowered his head, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. It was dark, and what little light there was seemed to fluctuate in a rhythm that made him feel like he was being rocked in his mothers arms, and she was singing, hush little baby, dont say a word, Mamas gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird dont sing. . . . He did not remember what would happen if the mockingbird didnt sing. Leah would know. She always used to sing that song to Joe when he was a little boy. He opened his mouth to ask her and then held the question in a bubble inside his mouth. He felt as though he had not yet learned how to speak. Leah was hunched over slightly. Her eyes seemed a little watery, and her limbs were lined with blue beneath her thin, translucent skin. The room thrummed with the sound of some barely audible radio, and the low red light seemed to ebb and flow as if the light were some sort of fluid in which they were suspended together. Diamond ring. Mamas gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mamas gonna buy you a looking glass. He realized just then that he could see his reflection in the window, and as soon as he realized he pulled away. Then he turned back and tried to see through his own face and into the empty field beyond. When he was little he used to play blind mans bluff out in that field. At least, he thought he had played in that field before. He was not quite sure if that was the field they had used to play blind mans bluff in. All empty fields looked more or less the same to him. He must have played in the field, though. He was sure he had played in that field. That was the field where they had all been flying kites. And Richard kept trying to knock his out of his hand, and then it blew away and he tried to chase after it, and it was gone. And then he got mad and said Richard was being a kite, and Richard laughed at him and said that didnt mean anything. And he said it did too mean something, because he heard his uncle call somebody a dirty kite just the other day. And then they all started laughing and using it because they didnt know what it meant. And he always thought he must

have misheard, because he was so young, but then when he was with his uncle later, and he said it the same way, dirty kite. It wasnt his fault hed said it wrong. The poor bastard spent his whole life with a bottle in his hands, babbling about nothing. Meanwhile, miles away, the branches of the pear tree would have been shaking in the wind, and the soft white blossoms falling silently down. The petals curved inward to hold the empty air that held them. There were so many of them, but they were all so light and swift that trying to catch them felt like trying to catch his friends in a game of blind mans bluff. He would have to cut down the tree. There was no denying that. It was a shame, but it would have to be done. Maybe first he would look to see if there was anything living in it. A few years back around this time, a bird had come and made her nest somewhere deep in the crotches. He knew because one of her nestlings had fallen. He had wanted to pick it up, and to cradle it in his hands, and bring it safely back home. But he did not think you were supposed to touch baby birds. And he pulled back one of the branches to look for the nest, and it felt a little wrong, like he was peeping into a private world which was not meant to cross his own. So he had left the bird alone in its sanctuary, and gone forth to mind his own business.