Jody Lee Mott - Hush-A-Bye

IT WAS DEEP in the afternoon of the last Tuesday of summer when I kicked away a willow branch lying on the riverbank and found the head.

My eyes had been closed. Id been imagining, for no particular reason, how the September sun would look to the salamanders trolling the murky Susquehanna riverbed. Like margarine on burnt toast, I supposed. Then my foot knocked into the branch, my eyes opened, and another eye stared back at me.

Its yellow hair was tangled with twigs and muck and broken glass like some crazy birds nest. It had a scratched cheek, a chipped-up nose, and a grimy clot of mud in the hole where the left eye should have been. I picked up the head and held it by its ragged neck. The body, I supposed, had long since floated away.

Poor little doll, I said. Whered the rest of you go?

I glanced behind me. My sister, Antonia, was somewhere along the slope above the bank, searching for flat rocks to skip on the water. She was always somewhere close by.

I bent down to drop the head back in the hollow space where it must have been hiding for weeksmaybe years, for all I knew. I wondered if the rest of her might be hiding somewhere on the small river island that sat a couple hundred feet out from where I stood. The curve of its shore matched the curve of the riverbank like a puzzle piece, and it was covered in tall birch trees that jostled against each other.

I looked at the river. Bars of light shivered across the surface. There hadnt been a single cloud in the sky since the middle of August. Nothing above us but a wide sheet of blue.

Looking across ripples of sunlight on the rivers brown face, I wondered what would happen if I tossed the dolls head into the water. I wanted to make the sunlight dancing there smash into a million pieces. Somehow, that seemed like the best possible thing I could do that day.

I weighed the dolls head dangling from my hand, its hair twisted in my fingers. Its one good eye watched me. Almost like my daddys eyesbright emerald green and full of mischief. At least, thats how I remembered them.

I bit my lip and swallowed the sour ball of pain rising up my throat. The eye still looked at me, but it didnt seem so bright anymore. It was dull and scratched and looked like nothing more than a cheap glass eye stuck in a poor broken dolls head.

Lucy?

I turned. Antonia stood there with her hands cupped together, full of rocks too fat for anything but sinking with a loud plop. She was smiling, and her eyes were wide open even though she was facing into the sun. I could never understand how she was able to do that without squinting. The sparkly duckling barrette shed worn since second grade glittered in the sunlight.

Gross, Antonia said, but she was still smiling. Whats that?

Nothing, I said. Just an old dolls head. Come look.

Antonia dropped the rocks, letting them thump in the undergrowth, and shuffled toward me. I pressed my finger against the dolls cheek.

See? I said. Only an old broken dolls head. Antonia wrapped her hand around the head and tried to pull it toward her. I jerked it away.

Stop that, I said, a little more harshly than Id intended. Theres glass in its hair. Youll cut yourself. Im going to throw it back where I found it. Nothing but trash anyway.

Antonia pouted. I tried to ignore her, but that pout always rankled me. Even though there was only a years difference between us, sometimes Antonia acted like such a baby. According to Mom, Antonia just had her own Antonia way of doing things, which meant she needed a little extra help at school, and a little more patience from me. I knew it wasnt completely her fault why she acted the way she did, so I tried to be understanding. I didnt always succeed.

I shook my head to break up the annoyed feeling. There were still a few more hours of this day to enjoy my freedom. No sense in ruining that with fussing over things I couldnt change. And no sense in keeping some dirty, broken, good-for-nothing dolls head.

I stepped toward the river and drew my arm back. A gust of wind shook the gray birch branches across the far bank. As they swayed, I thought I heard somethinga faint voice whispering among the sound of rattling dry leaves.

Take me home.

I swung about and glared at my sister. What did you say?

Antonia cocked her head to one side. I didnt say nothing. Must have been the doll.

I looked at my sister for a long time, then shook my head. Dont be silly. I picked shards of glass out of the dolls hair. Too many worries about school tomorrow were making me jumpy, making me hear things. I needed to settle myself down.

Its sad, though, dont you think? I said. Poor thing left all alone here. Her little bodys probably washed all the way to China.

My teacher read a book about a glass bunny that got lost, Antonia said. He got drowned in the ocean until some fisherman pulled him out and saved him.

Probably shouldnt throw her back in the river. That would be littering. We can put her in the trash when we get back home.

Antonia leaned in and squinted at the dolls head. Shes not garbage, she said. She needs us. Shes lonely. She rested her cheek on my arm. Cant we take her back to the trailer? We can fix her up, and maybe we can find another body for her.

I nudged Antonia away. Mom wouldnt like it. Shes already threatened to take a shovel to all the junk under your bed.

Its not junk, Antonia said. Theyre my precious treasures.

Her precious treasures were a flat soccer ball, a trunkless stuffed elephant named Mr. Lumps, a large bag full of knotted rubber bands, a papier-mch Earth with only five continents, and about a hundred other bits and pieces shed picked up here and there and shoved under her bed for later.

Shed be the most precious treasure of all, Antonia said. She nestled her cheek against my arm again and fluttered her eyelashes. Please, can we keep her? Pretty please?