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The White Crow Miracle

By : Tanay Kumar Das ( Posted on :08 Apr, 2006 )

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It has been said that they roll up the streets in Bayridge at the first hint of twilight. Usually by the time the first afternoon shadows creep behind the Bayridge Chapel on Cherry Street beside the park, old man Taylor at the Red Springs Barber Shop has already dragged his quilt padded rocking chair back into his shop, along with his dog-eared copies of Trim and Chat magazine. The stores along Main Street begin to just sort of wilt just after noon; curtains begin to draw shut over the display windows about "suppertime."

It has been like this forever. Or at least since the Bayridge founding father, old �Sparky� Whittingham, set fire to his own wagon and merrily announced that the ashes would be "cosmically transcended" into a town.

It has also been said that Bayridge is �one strange little oil spot along the pike to No-where�s-ville.� Well, there is that sign on the road as one enters town from the interstate that reads: BAYRIDGE -- A STATE OF MIND. But the sign has become so decrepit and tatty that visitors hardly notice that anymore, either. And since the residents seldom leave town, visitors would be the only ones to notice the sign in the first place. Of course, strangers to Bayridge are an odd occurrence to begin with. The place really is spooky -- in an Alice in Wonderland kind of way. Southe�n style, that is.

There was the incident of the white crow, however. And since Bayridge is what �outsiders� call a mountain village, nestled in its own cozy valley snugly against the base of the northern slopes of the Appalachians in east Tennessee, some would be inclined to associate the white crow sightings with some sort of religious or celestial phenomenon. Well, perhaps so -- to any normal religious group. But then, no one ever said that the religious doctrine of Bayridge folks could be considered normal, either. Junior Whittingham, old Sparky�s son, made sure of that, way back a forever or two ago.

Two weeks after they moved to Bayridge, Daisy spotted the white crow. "Harley! Get out here! I�m on the patio, come see!"

Harley eventually arrived -- scratching his butt through thin white BVD�s. "What�s all the hub-bub, Daisy?"

"Awe -- you missed it, a white crow over there in that tree, I swear. Oh my � would you please get dressed? Our new neighbours will think the worst of us."

"A white crow, eh? Not a white pigeon, a white crow � debatable, young bride o�mine. Have you been partaking of the spirits this early in the day?"

"Quit, now � I�m serious."

"Don�t tell any of these people around here, Daisy, they�re weird enough without giving them something to get wound up about, like white sparrows and such."

"White CROW !"

"Um hmmm."

"Oh go put your pants on, ma-an."

It infuriated Daisy when her husband would not believe her. So when the white crow returned two days later, Daisy immediately ran to her neighbour�s back door. A complete stranger to this new neighbour�s home, she had to strain to see through the black rusty screen door, to inside, where nothing but utter darkness seemed to reside. She yelled out, "Excuse me! Anyone home!"

"I saw it, too," whispered an instant deep voice from within the shadows of the house.

"Hi there, my name is Daisy and I live next door. We just moved in awhile back. Could I speak to you � wherever you are in there?" Thus far, the voice was not connected to a person.

The ancient individual who gradually appeared from the shadows was arrestingly odd. This neighbour hobbled up to the rusty screen and, with sick pink eyes squinted nearly shut, spoke out of the corner of his (or her) face, not using the mouth at all. Daisy could barely decipher the words that drifted through the screen door to her: "I saw the white crow, too, have seen it several times," gurgled the voice. Daisy could now see that this person had once been a man. Somehow �

Daisy was so shocked by the man�s wretched appearance that she could not speak. His face was round and moonlike, pink and smooth, but far too young for the wrinkled up old body that supported it. In the very center of his forehead there was parked a hellish brown wart with several ungodly silver hairs sprouting forth like dead weeds in freshly fallen snow. Now the subject of the white crow evaded Daisy completely and all she wanted to do was scuttle away from this freak show neighbour. "I�m sorry," she said, glancing away, "I think that was my phone ringing over at the house."

"I didn�t hear a thing," piped the man, his finger nudging a huge silver hearing aid.

Daisy hastened her farewell and returned home to shiver over red wine, conjuring up sinister images from sci-fi films on late night TV that she was certain had eluded her memory with maturity.

She was at the Save A Bundle grocery store in Bayridge a few days later when she noticed packages of wild bird seed for sale. She stopped a large red faced man in the aisle and asked him, "Do you think crows will eat this kind of seed?"

"Crows? Why, madam, crows will slop down anything, I mean anythin� at all!"

"Even white crows?"

The man gazed intently at Daisy, as if she�d slapped him across his fat red cheeks. His eyebrows unfurled and he said, succinctly, "Surely you are mistaken, madam, for there is no such thing as a white crow. There are white pigeons, white doves, I even saw me a white rooster once, but no-sir, not a white crow. I believe you are sorely mistaken, Mizzzz �"

Daisy introduced herself. "I�m Daisy, and then there�s Harley, that�s my husband, Harley and I just moved here a couple weeks ago. We just love the small town atmosphere." Daisy explained her white crow sightings, and even mentioned her ugly neighbour�s comments about seeing the white crow before, too. "On several occasions, he told me," Daisy added.

The man introduced himself as Junior Whittingham, the mayor and son of the founding father of Bayridge, �Old Sparky�s� son in the tubby flesh. "I must come to your home, I must see this for myself, young lady. This sounds like an omen to me, yes-sir. An omen of profound significance�"

Daisy had hardly expected the entourage of shadowy bearded old timers that disembarked the slinky new limo swooping down upon her home on Bentley Street promptly next morning. Junior Whittingham and six strangers were escorted by Junior�s driver, a tall older black man who ably favoured the role of a traditional Southe�n chauffer. Daisy led the VIP�s around back to her patio where they stood in perfect silence for over an hour --waiting for the white crow to arrive in the nearby trees where Daisy had previously spotted the magical creature. When nothing of consequence occurred, the curious gawkers left Daisy to herself.

A week passed and nothing more happened. No more white crow, no more neighbours, no more Junior Whittingham. But around Bayridge, ideas were stirring.

When Daisy and Harley awoke on Saturday, they heard crowds churning past their bedroom windows. Harley lumbered out of bed and dragged himself to the nearest window. "Good god! There�s a hundred people down there."

Daisy and Harley scrambled downstairs. In their back yard, the people were gathered as if attending an open air revival, all of them swaying back and forth to some distant silent inspiration only visible to their imaginations, all holding hands. Junior Whittingham was standing before them on a small wooden fruit case, a small frail boy with squinting red eyes at his side. Junior�s big hand was positioned on the crown of the boy�s head. Junior seemed to gape into the skies, but his eyes were closed, his purple lips moving, mumbling �mumbling �

"Oh white crow," chanted Junior in a mesmerizing tone, "Great white crow, come heal this young man�s poor sight, for with the miracle of birth he was also saddled with NEAR blindness. Come with us now, old wise one, old white crow �"

The crowd stirred. A low current of barely audible murmurs drifted from ear to ear, here and there.

"I can see the white crow!" shouted the blind boy. "I can see the white crow! I can see the white crow! Yes! Yes! I see it! Dear Lord I see the white crow!" The young boy fell to his knees in the dewy wet grass, sobbing at his mother�s feet, her face turned upward.

Everyone including Daisy and Harley suddenly turned, glancing off into the hazy pink skies that hovered over the mountain slopes. Daisy spotted a crow sailing majestically down into the meadow valley that encircles her home. But the crow was obviously black as night.

"It�s a miracle!" declared Junior Whittingham in his thundering voice. And the singing of hymns rang out across the back yard. Dancing ensued, and the little ugly man next door stood just inside his screen door, watching with interest.

"It�s all a hoax," whispered Harley to Daisy, his mouth screwed into disarray. "A damned old hoax, can you believe these people are falling for this? I�m putting a stop to this right now." Harley lunged forward, but Daisy snagged his collar and pulled him back onto the patio.

The distant crow stretched and flapped his very black wings, then launched gracefully into the sky. The crowd fell silent, then one by one quietly left with Junior blabbing about the next town meeting as they departed. The cars screeched away, and the ugly little man next door slammed his ugly rusty door shut.

Harley shrugged. "Weird, huh?"

"If they believe in white crows, who are we to tell them not to?" demanded Daisy. Her face had turned red by now, her eyes filled with a beckoning quality. "No one should have that right. Not you, not me. Let it go, Harley. Does it really matter what any one of us believe? As long as it doesn�t hurt us, or hurt someone else?"

"Is it any wonder I love you?" asked Harley, taking Daisy�s arm.

"Quit �"

"Are you sure you weren�t hittin� the sauce?"

"Quit!"

Written By : Tanay Kumar Das

Visit personal website of Tanay Kumar Das

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