Heron Wading through the Shallows

By John Brantingham

Charles is driving his son Henry to the courthouse where his lawyer has told Charles that he’s going to be convicted of assault, and he’s going to be given the chance to choose prison or joining the military, which this judge sees as a kindness, and maybe it is, but Charles remembers what the Second World War was; he knows what it means to be in a tank, to be shot and to kill other men. So when he notices that a heron buzzing a marsh has caught Henry’s eye, he pulls over, and they watch it land. It stands a bit and they watch longer than might be thought reasonable to watch a heron when you’re on your way to court, so Henry turns to Charles and asks a question with his eyes. Charles says, “I don’t like to give advice.”

“I know.”

“Choose prison.”

“I’m not afraid to fight.”

This seems an obvious sort of statement for someone who is going to be convicted of assault, but he doesn’t point it out. He says, “I know you aren’t. Trust me on this one.” He has never talked about his time in the tank corps to his family, or to anyone else. He doesn’t want to now. He doesn’t want to go back even just in his head. Still, he says, “Henry, I know what people smell like when they burn to death. I can’t get that smell out of my nose.” He pauses and breathes and breathes. “I used to take showers for hours to get it out of my hair, but it’s still there.”

Henry, who is now just eighteen, stares at Charles and nods, kind of uncomprehending, or else comprehending as much as he can. He starts to speak and stops. He says, “I . . .” and that’s as much as he gets out.

“You don’t have to say anything.” The blue heron is picking its way through the shallows, and they watch him finding his food. Charles said, “There was one time I had to kill a man with a knife. His blood got all through my clothes. Some of it got into my mouth. I can still taste him.”

There is nothing to say to this either. What words would work? Henry knows what it is to get into a fist fight in a bar and beat up a couple of locals, and he thinks that means he’s tough, but Charles knows that there’s no such thing as tough. Finally, Henry says, “I don’t know that the judge is going to give me a choice.”

“That’s true,” Charles says. “He might not.” He takes a breath. “If he does, choose
prison.”

—

About Author

John Brantingham is currently and always thinking about radical wonder. He was Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks’ first poet laureate. His work has been in hundreds of magazines and The Best Small Fictions 2016 and 2022. He has twenty-two books of poetry, nonfiction, and fiction. He is the editor of The Journal of Radical Wonder.

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