The Crow: A Murder of Crows by AA. VV

Author:AA. VV. [AA. VV.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Novela, Fantástico
Publisher: ePubLibre
Published: 1998-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

The strong green tea does warm Lucrece. She sips her second cup while Aaron rambles on about the shop, holds the little china teacup in both hands and rolls it back and forth between her palms. The taste and smell of the tea is nostalgic too. She wonders if there’s a thing left in the world that hasn’t become tainted by her sadness.

“But you wanted to talk about crows,” the old man says at last, peering at her from under his eyebrows as he blows on his own steaming cup of tea.

“Yes,” she says, setting her cup on the table. “What do you know about crows and the dead, about crows and ghosts?”

Aaron frowns and tugs at his beard.

“You got me out of bed at four A. M. because you wanted to hear fairy tales?”

“It’s very important,” she says, stealing a glance at the grease-stained clock above the stove. It reads 4:20. She wonders how long Jared’s been gone, where he might be now. Or maybe I imagined the whole goddamned thing, she thinks. Maybe I’m just a crazy woman wandering around in the rain talking about birds.

“Mythology and folklore are not my areas of expertise,” Aaron replies, and slurps his tea.

“But you must have picked up a lot in your studies. You must have heard a lot of strange things.”

“Strange things,” he says, and laughs, closing his eyes a moment as if savoring the flavor of the tea or losing himself in some bit of memory. “Everyone sees and hears strange things, Lucrece. If they live a little while and keep their eyes open. Especially when one is a young boy in New England. Or an old man in New Orleans.”

“Did you ever meet Jared Poe?” she asks, afraid she’s losing her nerve. “Benny’s lover, the photographer?”

Aaron narrows his eyes, blows on his tea again.

“You said crows.”

“I know,” Lucrece replies.

“I met him once,” Aaron says, setting down his cup. “And I know he was killed in prison. I heard that on the radio a week or so back. The Bourbon Street Ripper killed in a prison brawl.”

“Yeah.” Lucrece begins to wish she’d gone to someone else. Someone more inclined to believe ghost stories than this outcast scientist, this snowy-haired man who might have invented doubt for his own particular pleasures.

“What’s he got to do with crows, Lucrece?”

“Jared came back home tonight,” she says, just like that, the whole thing out at once before she can change her mind. “He came back, with a crow.”

Aaron Marsh doesn’t say anything, just stares down at his cooling tea, the antique china cup decorated with cobalt blue sparrows painted beneath the cracked glaze.

“Why would I make something like that up, Aaron?” Lucrece whispers.

“That’s not for me to say.” Aaron sighs loudly and folds his hands in front of him. “In India the crow is the bird of death. Many cultures make that connection. It’s natural enough, since crows are carrion-feeders. Crows are seen to feed on the dead, so we get legends

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