Birds in Fall
Chapters (35)
Cover
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Colophon
Also by Brad Kessler
Lick Creek
The Woodcutter’s Christmas
Copyright
SCRIBNER
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by Brad Kessler
Portions of this work were previously published in the Kenyon Review and in Bomb magazine in March 2006.
SCRIBNER and design are trademarks of Macmillan Library Reference USA, Inc., used under license by Simon & Schuster, the publisher of this work.
DESIGNED BY KYOKO WATANABE
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kessler, Brad.
Birds in fall : a novel / Brad Kessler.
p. cm.
1. Aircraft accidents—Fiction. 2. Loss (Psychology)—Fiction. 3. Healing—Fiction. 4. Psychological fiction. 5. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3561.E66955B57 2006
813’.54—dc22
2005054120
ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-9913-8
ISBN-10: 0-7432-9913-2
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Dedication
For Stanley…For Mokhtar
Epigraph
Now I am ready to tell how bodies are changed Into different bodies.
OVID, Metamorphoses
I
One
It’s true: a few of us slept through the entire ordeal, but others sensed something wrong right away. We grew restless in our seats and felt what exactly? An uneasiness, a movement in the air, a certain quiet that hadn’t been there before? Several men craned their necks about the cabin. We caught each other’s eyes, exchanged searching looks, and just as quickly—embarrassed—glanced away. We were eighty minutes into the flight. Orion on our left, the bear to the right. The motors droned. The cabin lights dimmed. The whoosh of the engines was the sound of erasure: Shhhhh, they whispered, and we obeyed.
The woman beside me clicked on her overhead light and adjusted a pair of reading glasses. She laid a folder of sheet music on her tray. Thin, black-haired, she smelled vaguely of breath mints. Her blue cello case lay strapped to the seat between us. She was giving a concert in Amsterdam and had booked an extra ticket for her instrument. I’d joked about her cello on the tarmac: Did she order special meals for it on flights? Did it need a headset, a pillow? She was retying hair behind her head and cast me a barely tolerant smile.