As Bonnie watched the geese, Hal watched Bonnie. He had brought her to
his farm after their wedding fifty years ago. His young and muscular build made
it easy for him to swoop her up into his embrace and carry her into her new
home. He buried his face in her wild corkscrew auburn curls. Her azure blue
eyes looked so bright he could see his reflection in them. Now after rounds of
chemotherapy and radiation, her once lush locks hung wispy thin and battleship
gray. Her eyes still held their blue color but now looked dull as if a curtain
drawn across them blocked the light. Every time her disease went into
remission, another tumor popped up elsewhere in her body. She grew weary of the fight.
On evening, while they sat on the front porch and watched fireflies flit
and listened to the sawing of insects, Bonnie turned to him.
“Hal, no more treatment,” she said. “It doesn’t prolong my life; it
prolongs my death.”
Hal took her pale fragile hand into his knobby arthritic one, raised it
to his face and kissed it. She stroked his stubby cheek. No words needed.
Sadie and Seymour and their
growing family stayed another winter. Bonnie got sicker and one day in March,
with Hal lying beside her, his lips close to her cheek, his hand covering hers,
she slipped away.
When the migrating geese landed on Hal’s pond that year, Sadie and
Seymour and their offspring mingled with the others and took off on their
flight to Mexico. His beloved Bonnie had died, and he knew the time had come to
let the farm go. Every room he entered in the old house reminded him of her. He
found himself reaching for her in his sleep only to grasp empty air. He hadn’t
cleared out her closet, couldn’t bear to part with her clothing. Sometimes he
held her dresses to his face to sniff her smell. But now her smell had faded
from the cloth. When he agreed to sell
his farm, Hal insisted the pond be left intact.
The day after Hal stormed out of Franklin’s office, the phone rang in
the old farm house.
Hal picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
Franklin said “I’ve got good news. The developer agreed to your
provisions. There’ll be no dredging, emptying or filling. The pond will remain
for the migrating geese in perpetuity.”
“Good, draw up the papers and I’ll sign,” Hal said.
He notified Sherman. “You’ll
have to move your horses. I’ve sold the farm.”
“No problem Hal. I wish you all the best,” Sherman said.
The builder mapped out parcels around the pond and sold each for
excessive amounts of money because of the choice locale. Hal spent his last two
years in a small cottage on Shinecock
Canal watching boats
sail into the harbor.
Hal’s strength waned and his heart weakened. He had lost his will to
live. On his last day, in his hospital bed, he breathed Bonnie’s name as he
died. Suddenly a cacophony of noise came from outside. Nurses ran to the window
to see what caused the racket. A flock of geese flew above the hospital. They
circled in single file honking their thanks to their friend and benefactor.
Then they peeled off one by one, dipped their wings in goodbye and led by Sadie
and Seymour, flew back to Canada.
Wonderful!
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