At a small table in the Mexican restaurant the three of them continued to argue the merits of their list of the ten greatest American novels. The conversation had been repeated since graduate school. But now the past and everything back in Kentucky was a shadow.

The woman insisted on Melville over Hawthorne. “What do you mean, not include Moby Dick?” she scolded the two men. “How can you leave it out every time? One alone saved, drifting on the ocean, should be more than enough to beat out Hester and her preacher.”

The men shrugged at each other. “Sex always wins over salvation,” the light-haired man teased her.

“Antonio!”  The woman had given Tony a Spanish name since they had come to Mexico. She liked how it felt to call him that. She watched the men and listened to their voices going back and forth.

Three green parrots were perched in the restaurant lobby. “How disgusting! They just stand there,” Tony said to the other two.

“Parrots stand on sticks wherever they are,” Mike offered.

“Yeah, but in a stupid restaurant? And look at that woman feed them!”

An American tourist with white hair and a purse on her putty-white arm was happily handing over saltine crackers. The smallest parrot solemnly took each cracker in its beak and crushed it against the perch. Cracker crumbs fell to the orange and red silk flowers arranged in pots below. The weary birds were neither interested nor hungry.

“I bet if they thought of it, they’d dress them in ponchos and sombreros and take them on TV.”  Tony’s voice got louder. The woman thought he might jump to the parrots. She listened to the vague guitar melody filtering down from a hole in the ceiling.

“Polly want a cracker?” Tony squawked toward the lobby. 

“Aw, come on, man. Leave it alone,” Mike said.

A waitress languidly set down more margaritas and removed plates and glasses. Her long, black hair fell across the table. She picked up the ashtray, dumped it into the glasses on her tray, and set it back on the table. Immediately, Tony took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it. He watched the waitress’s buttocks go back across the room. 

Mike watched the woman at the table as she started her next drink. “You said you wouldn’t do this. No wonder you don’t sleep.” The woman thought Mike just wanted her to forgive him.  He was eager and agreeable.

“There’s nothing else to do, so I’ll get numb.” The woman frowned at both men. She thought Tony also wanted her to forgive Mike so they could all be comfortable again.

Tony blew another puff of smoke toward the parrots. Mike watched the smoke rise into the air. “I think we should go,” he said toward the smoke.

Tony mashed his cigarette into the ashtray. “Sure.” He took a sip of his drink but did not move to get up.

“Well?” Mike questioned toward the woman.

“I’ll be back. Wait for me.” She stood and walked unsteadily toward the empty lobby. She paused and spoke to the hostess who pointed to a hallway beyond the parrots.

◆

The last time the woman had seen Mike they had lunch in the yard at the old farmhouse over in Livingston County. He held up his iced tea and waited for the sun to shine from behind a cloud. When the sun lit the sky, a clear amber shadow streaked across his arm. He looked at the color and laughed, holding the glass above his head for her to see. 

Mike stood at the edge of the yard and threw tiny cherry tomatoes at a black locust in the fencerow. “There’s always a difference about the days you first notice it’s not summer any more. The air smells ripe. Almost rotten,” he said. The sun was warm, but still, it felt like the end of something.  

No amount of sunlight could stave off time and change. The petunias died first. Geraniums next. She could not keep even the stonecrop from drying up and falling over.

◆

When the woman came back through the restaurant lobby, Mike met her and they walked to the heavy wooden door. The two passed from the dim light into the startling Mexican sun and heat. Without talking, they crossed the hazy parking lot to a small brown car. Tony sat in the passenger seat and squinted at the sidewalk across the street. A couple of tourists walked along, gleefully licking ice cream from their fingers as it dripped from sticky, half-eaten cones. Mike slid under the wheel, and the woman crawled into the back seat beside a backpack and stack of books. It was hotter than she thought it ever could be. 

“I don’t know about this,” Mike said. He leaned forward and started the car.

“What could be worse than that restaurant, looking at every old lady who comes around with crackers?” A tentative squawk sounded from his lap.

The woman pulled herself up to the edge of the seat. The smallest parrot lay on its back in Tony’s grip. “What’d you do? Oh, the poor thing!”

“I don’t care. Just get it away from those crackers.”

“How can you just walk out with their parrot?”

“I’ve already asked him that,” Mike said. 

The woman shifted so Mike could drive, but she kept looking at the green parrot. It kept curling and uncurling its claws. The bird’s dark tongue chewed in and out as if it mumbled to itself.

“I’m going to free him. God, it’s sad in there!”

When the car moved north through neon tourism, the parrot started to squawk, but it still lay tamely in Tony’s grasp. The heat in the car did not lessen, even though Mike had turned on the air-conditioner. Tony lit a cigarette with his free hand. The scrape-scrape-scrape of the flint marked the heat. Tony exhaled and gazed at the haze beyond the city.

The woman looked at the back of Mike’s head. She imagined long crimson nails against his hair. When she could no longer endure her own thoughts or the little parrot’s noise, she asked, “Now what?” toward the front seat.

“Find a park or something. We’ll let it go.” Now Tony seemed more impatient than angry.

“A park? What about out there somewhere?” Mike motioned toward the dry country beyond a fence.

“A park!” Tony insisted. “Not there!” 

In a few minutes, they drove by what appeared to be an old town square. Green, watered grass wrapped around little trees and buildings. “What about down this way?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, I guess. Just pull over!”

Mike stopped the car beside a crumbling curb. Tony stepped out of the car holding the parrot. He set the bird on a rock wall that went around a small courtyard. The bird shook its feathers and stretched its neck. Tony fanned his hands at the bird. Mike and the woman leaned to watch. The parrot took a few steps and then rubbed its beak against a rock in the wall. 

The woman sat back against the seat and watched Mike. “It’s too hot,” she said to his profile. Mike continued to look at the bird on the wall. Their friend poked at the bird. When it did not move, he picked it up and tossed it into the air. The parrot fluttered to the ground a few feet away. 

Tony sighed toward the bird. A boy and a girl were laughing in a nearby fountain. The girl playfully held her shoes high above the few drops of water the boy splashed up at her. 

Tony picked up the bird and went around to Mike’s window. “Its wings are clipped.”  

“Oh,” the woman breathed toward the rock wall. She looked at the parrot clutched in Tony’s grasp. It rolled its yellow-rimmed eyes and continued to mumble to itself. The two men talked above the bird’s head. Then Tony carried it around the car, opened the door, and got in. Mike started the car and drove north.

◆

A week earlier, the woman had knocked on Tony’s door in a boarding house in Louisville. The deadbolt turned in the lock and Tony opened the door. She wondered if she saw a bit of irritation in his eyes. He was reading, always reading.

The room was cluttered with books and clothes. “What’s new?” he said. He went to a dresser and closed two open drawers and swept books from a chair. 

“Not much. A bit of time passed. You know.”

“Yep. Time does that.” Neither of them sat or looked at each other.

“I need you to help me.”

“Okay.” Their eyes met.

“Mike called. He’s in Mexico.”

“Oh, that’s a new one.”

“Don’t.”

“Well. What?”

 “He was pretty messed up. He wants me to go get him.”

“When?” 

“I don’t know. Soon.”

“Okay. I’ll knock off work and be there tomorrow. Get an oil change.”

And it was decided. When she got into her car, she looked at his second-floor window. He had turned off the light, and she could see the flash from his lighter as he lit a cigarette.

◆

Going north in the heat, the woman studied the two men in the front seat. Mike gripped the steering wheel and peered ahead toward the States. He complained about the heat. Tony squinted out the window to the east. The parrot squealed occasionally. In a while, Mike stopped the car and went into a building to pay for gas.

 “Do you want it?” Tony held up the small bird and then lowered it to his lap. He continued to squint through the windshield. Heat boiled ahead of the car like a golden mirage.

The woman leaned forward and examined the oily, resting bird. It seemed almost dead or asleep. “Yes. I guess.” She paused. “I need something to drink. Make him get me something.”

Tony turned his head to the right to watch Mike walk across the parking lot and pump gas into the car. The woman watched the storefront. “Tony?”

“Okay. But this is stupid. You drift when you do this.”

Mike pumped gas and got into the car. Tony lit another cigarette. “We’re going to keep the bird,” he said to Mike without looking at him. After Mike continued driving, north toward the border, the parrot began squawking again. “How do you propose to get that noisy thing through?” Mike asked. “We won’t get home.” He wiped his fingers along his wet hairline and over his ears. The afternoon and the heat were unending.

“We can do it.” Tony turned to face Mike. “Let’s stop and get some whiskey. I’ll show you. We’ll get it through.”

Mike lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror. The woman touched her damp face with the back of her hand. She challenged his eyes until he looked back to the highway ahead.

By the time they found a liquor store, the parrot was trying to flap its wings. The woman was tired of the monotonous stores lining the highway. When the car stopped, Tony handed the bird to Mike, got out, and went into the store. In the still car the bird rested quietly. Mike rolled down his window and faced the woman. 

She met his eyes and said, “Why am I here? Why did you call me?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re going home, aren’t we?”

“I don’t think I should have come.”

“You drink too much. It doesn’t work to drink so much. When we get home…” His voice drifted away.

“I don’t think we’ll ever get home.” She felt the hot breeze from the open window. “It’s so hot! That poor bird is going to suffocate.” She reached forward and rubbed the small oval of yellow on the parrot’s shoulder. “We’ll all suffocate. Drown, in this heat.” She sat back against the warm seat.

Tony came back to the car with a paper bag. He opened the door and leaned toward Mike. “Do you want a beer?” He handed the bag over the seat to the woman.

“Sure. Get a couple,” Mike smiled at his friend, and Tony walked back to the store. 

The woman opened the bag and removed a fifth of whiskey and a paper cup of crushed ice. She put the whiskey beside the books and put a few pieces of ice in her mouth. She felt a trickle of sweat run from her neck into the space between her breasts.

Tony returned and got in the car. He handed a dark bottle to Mike and opened the other bottle for himself. The woman opened the whiskey, smelled it, took a drink, and dropped more ice into her mouth. She scooted forward again and stroked the head of the parrot in Mike’s lap. Mike considered the woman, handed her the parrot, started the car, and drove north.

“Okay!” Mike was cheerful. “So, we now have a bird!”

“A bird!” Tony echoed. 

“What are you going to name our bird?” Mike said toward the rear-view mirror. 

In the front seat the men waited.

“Naming privilege!” Tony teased.

After another drink, the woman looked at the little parrot. It seemed to smile at her. It closed one eye. “Call me Ishmael,” she said.

The men looked at each other and laughed. “Revenge!” Mike chortled. 

“Salvation?” Tony suggested.

“Ishmael!” the men agreed. The bird seemed to smile along. But after a few miles, he began to squawk disagreeably.

“Okay. We’re going to be there soon. What’s your brilliant idea?” Mike asked.

Tony talked toward the windshield. “Take my old T-shirt in the floor back there. Pour some whiskey on it and wrap the bird in it. It’ll sleep til we stop.”

The woman found the shirt and poured some whiskey over it. “The thing’s hot,” she said toward the front seat. But the men were already talking sports and leaning impatiently toward the north. She wrapped the bird in the shirt and held it in her arms. After a while, the bird became quieter and struggled less and less. She thought about Tony’s new refrain he’d adopted in Mexico, de nada, de nada, de nada. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. She held the swaddled, drunk parrot and took another sip of the whiskey. De nada. De nada. De nada.

That night Ishmael woke and played on the floor of their Brownsville motel room, pulling at loose stands of carpet with his beak. The woman sat on the balcony and looked back at the room. Tony and Mike lay propped against the headboard of one of the two beds, watching basketball on a TV across the room. They passed bags of potato chips and pretzels back and forth. Occasionally, one of the men, chip in hand, would motion toward the TV and comment on the ballgame. The other would wave a chip in agreement. 

After midnight the woman went into the bathroom. She slowly showered and dressed. When she returned to the room, the parrot was squatting on the nightstand. Only a small lamp and the TV were on. Mike slept in the bed near the door. Tony sat on the balcony smoking a cigarette and eating from the bag of pretzels.

The woman sat on the bed beside Mike. She talked to his silent back, the space between his shoulder blades. “Why am I here? You can’t always run away when you’re bored with me.” She watched Mike sleep, and then she watched Ishmael scrape his beak on the nightstand and pant with the effort. “It’s so hot in here. Even you must notice it,” she said to the bird. “When we get home, you will be saved from this nightmare. Salvation, little fellow.”

After a minute, she got up and walked to the TV. She changed the channel. A local, late-night news anchor explained a city ordinance and then turned to joke with the sportscaster. The woman stepped out onto the balcony.

Tony smoked a cigarette and looked out through the heat.  The woman took a few pretzels from the bag Tony held and sat in the other chair. “He’s asleep.” 

Tony talked to the space beyond the balcony rail.  “You go get some sleep. Just rest.”

On the motel balcony the woman looked out beyond where Tony blew smoke. She finished her pretzels, dusted salt from her hands, and returned to the room. Mike had turned over and breathed evenly. The parrot was not on the nightstand. She searched the room and found him lying on his side under the empty bed. He turned vacant eyes to her when she touched him. 

The woman stepped to the balcony and spoke to Tony, “Antonio. Ishmael is sick.”

Tony sighed out through the air as he stood. He pushed his cigarette into the ashtray, shoved the lighter into his jeans, and stepped into the room. He moved the parrot to the empty bed. The bird gasped and closed his eyes. Tony knelt and put a towel under it and rubbed the quiet, still bird. After a few minutes he slowly wrapped it in the towel. “He’s dead.” He rose and turned off the TV. When he turned, he met the woman’s eyes. He sighed and went to her. He put his arms around her. “Liz. He’s dead.” He pulled her in tight. “I’m sorry.”

“Why did we come after him? He ran off, didn’t he? I’m never enough.”

“He loves you, Liz. That’s enough.” He pulled away from her. “Go to sleep, okay?” He went back to the balcony and placed the shrouded bird on the table. He lit a cigarette and sat in a chair. Smoke drifted away from him as he looked out to the north.

Liz knew Tony would sit there for hours, watching. And in the morning the bird would be gone from the table. They would not speak of it again, but the memory would be there, between them. Always between them.