Irascible, cantankerous, mean and unsociable were all words used to describe Zachary Ryan. Just about everyone in this part of Gibson County knew him, and avoided him whenever possible. It's not that anyone thought the old man was dangerous; they all just figured he was a grouchy old coot, better off left alone. The only friend he had in the world was his next-door neighbor, Patrick Jessup. But even friendships as old as theirs can become strained from time to time, as was the case the previous fall when Zach saw Patrick pilfering a few apples from his prize apple tree and giving them to some of the neighborhood kids. Zach never said anything to Patrick, but he watched him closely after that, all the same.

Zach and Patrick had grown up together and lived in Oakland City all their lives, which was a considerable amount of time. Most of the boys and girls they had gone to school with had either left this sleepy little southern Indiana town or were buried in the cemetery at the south end of Jackson Street. The two septuagenarians lived on the outskirts of Oakland City, near the end of Cherry Road. It was difficult for most folks to imagine how they got on so well together, as different as they were. Zach was ornery, as previously mentioned, while Patrick was pleasant, good-natured and downright friendly to everyone. No one in Oakland City ever had anything but nice things to say about old Patrick. It seemed he was always doing nice things for members of the community, especially the kids.

For years Patrick had been the unofficial groundskeeper for the Little League Park that adjoined his property, and each summer, during Little League practices, he kept a cooler of soft drinks and juice on his front porch for the boys to quench their thirsts as they rode their bikes home from games and practice. Each fall he'd let Mrs. Watkins, the sixth-grade teacher at Oakland City Elementary, take Edgar, his pet crow, to school while she read the children from Poe's classic, The Raven. Patrick always swore old Edgar could talk, but Mrs. Watkins had never heard more than a "caw" come out of Edgar's beak.

And so it was when old Patrick Jessup died after falling off a ladder in his backyard, slamming his head down on a pile of rocks, that hardly a person in town didn't wonder at the patent injustice that it was Patrick instead of that crotchety old Zach Ryan. But when they learned it had been Zach that found Patrick and called 911, they immediately felt ashamed for such an uncharitable thought.

When the police and ambulance arrived, Patrick was already dead. Zach was kneeling beside him. Officer Tooley asked Zach a few questions: what he saw, when he found him, what he thought happened, that sort of thing. Zach told them that he figured Patrick had been tending to one of his birdhouses and slipped on the ladder. The ladder was lying next to the pole that supported the birdhouse, which was just on Patrick's side of the fence separating their back yards, near Zach's apple tree.

When she heard of her father's death, Patrick's daughter, Emily, immediately flew all the way from Chicago to make the arrangements. Her husband and two little girls drove their minivan down later, in time for the funeral.

The funeral itself was a simple affair. Patrick was a God-fearing man, but he didn't belong to any of the local churches. Nonetheless, there was quite a turn out. Zach was there and went to the gravesite too; he stood all alone, speaking to no one unless he was spoken to, and most everyone left him to himself. The local Little League bought a huge flower arrangement for the service. Brian and Chester, two of the little leaguers who spent a lot of time at Patrick's in the summer feeding Edgar and visiting with Patrick on his porch, made a simple cross and laid it on the coffin.

After old Patrick had been lain to rest, Emily invited everyone to Patrick's house for refreshments. Many declined to go, but the house was filled with the ones who did stop by. Zach waited quite awhile before going over, until most of the visitors had left. Old Edgar was out on the porch in his cage, and as Zach stepped up onto the porch, he poked a slice of apple he'd brought between the bars for Edgar to munch on. Then, he walked through the open front door to express his condolences.

Emily had been watching out the window as Zach came up on the porch. She remembered Zach as being a sour old man, even when she was a little girl, so she was surprised to see him being so kind and gentle toward Edgar.

"Emily, I...I don't know how to telya how sorry I am about yer dad."

Touched by the sincerity in his voice and the glimmer of a tear in the corner of his eye, Emily responded, "Zach, you know you were my dad's closest friend. He'd always talk about how you'd been up to this or that whenever I'd call on weekends." She hesitated, "I know you were the one who called 911...I'd like to thank you for that, you were a true friend to Dad."

Zach tried to speak, but the lump in his throat would not let the words by, so he just nodded and smiled as the tear that had been resting in the corner of his eye drained down his cheek. After a moment of silence, he turned to go.

"Wait, Zach," Emily said suddenly. "I was wondering, if it isn't too much bother...well, I was just wondering..." Trying to find the right words, Emily continued, "It's Edgar. Would you like to have Edgar...take care of him, I mean? I wouldn't ask, but I know how Dad loved that bird. We're going to have to sell the house and, well, we just don't have the room to take him back with us. Besides, Dad has had him since he was a nestling and I'm afraid that if we take him to a strange place, well..."

"'A course," Zach said, "'a course. Least I can do fer Patrick. Hell, he's over t' my house half the time anyways, when Patrick lets 'im outta his cell," a sad smile crossed his lips. "We found 'im together when he was a hatchlin', ya'know, out back under that big oak tree yonder."

"Oh, that's right, I remember, Dad told me once. Then you wouldn't mind?"

"Nope. I'll take 'im off'n yer hands right now, if you've a mind."

"Oh, that'd be just fine, Zach. And Zach...thanks. Lester will help you with the cage," turning to her husband, "won't you, hon."

"Huh, oh sure, no problem. Glad to help," feeling a wash of relief that he wouldn't have to ride back to Chicago with that old bird in the back of his minivan. "It's on a kind of cart. I built it for Patrick so he could hall it out to the porch easier, but it'd still be a bitch getting it up and down the steps to your porch by yourself."

Zach was sitting on the porch the next Saturday feeding Edgar slices of apple when two boys on bicycles stopped in front of his house.

"You ask him," said the chubby one.

"Huh uh...you," the red headed-boy replied.

"Hey, whaddaya kids up to?" croaked Zach.

The red-headed boy spoke up, "We was just wonderin' if it'd be okay if we came to see Edgar sometimes...Mr. Jessup was lettin' us try to teach him ..."

Zach cut him off, "You kids git. You ain't foolin' me none, ya got yer eyes on my apples out back. Ya think you can fool an old man into lettin' ya hang around, and the minute my back's turned you'll be stealin' my apples. Now go on, git." Zach stood up and started walking toward the steps of his porch.

"No we wasn't..."

"Cummon, Bri...I tole ya ole man Ryan wouldn't let us see Edgar no more. Crazy ole coot."

As the boys left, Zach was still haranguing them, "Them's my apples. Ya think I don't know you steal 'em off'n my tree when I ain't lookin'? Patrick let ya, too. Ya think I don't know? Git, before I call the law on y'uns."

The boys were gone and Zach got back to his chair still mumbling, but now to Edgar, "That's right. Patrick was stealin' 'em too. Didn't think I knew, but I did. Caught him red-handed." Edgar cawed in agreement. Zach continued, "Them's my apples, dammit, all of 'em."

"Kill'd Patrick.," cawed Edgar.

"That's right, I...WHAT!?" Zach's heart jumped in his chest. "What'd you say?" Edgar only stared back with his cold black eyes, ruffling out his feathers as he waited for another slice of apple. Zach sat silent for a minute, then chuckled, put his pinkie in his left ear as if to clean it out, mumbling to himself, "Must be goin' looney. Damn bird can't talk."

On Sunday, Zach went out back for the first time since Patrick's death, to tend some late squash he still had in his neat little patch of garden. He went over to the shed and started to pick up the garden rake, but stopped short, then decided to just take what squash was ready to pick and let the rest go to hell. After bringing his haul into the kitchen, he rolled Edgar's cage out on the front porch and went back inside to get an apple for Edgar and some lemonade for himself.

From the kitchen, he heard what sounded like partly a "caw" and partly his own name from out on the porch. When Zach returned to the porch, Edgar flapped his wings and cawed, "Gryan" in a hoarse-sounding assimilation of what a crow would sound like if a crow could talk. Zach, startled, almost spilled his lemonade.

Zach sat the apple down on a little table beside Edgar's cage and sipped the lemonade. "I must be a-hearin' things," he thought aloud. Then Edgar, spying the apple, flapped his wings again, "G'Ryan kill'd Patrick," he screeched, "G'Ryan kill'd Patrick.". The glass of lemonade slipped from Zach's hand and shattered on the porch.

"Hesh up, you crazy sumbitch!" Zach lunged for the cage, nearly ripping the door off its hinges. "Cum 'ere, ya sumbitch." Reaching inside the cage, Zach tried to get hold of Edgar by the throat. Edgar thrashed his wings managing to stay just out of Zach's reach. Finally, Zach caught hold of one of Edgar's legs. He was instantly rewarded with painful peck from Edgar's beak. Zach snatched his hand back out of the cage and Edgar took that as his cue to escape.

Edgar flew, a black mass of feathers, out of the cage and came to rest atop a planter of dried out azaleas Zach had hanging from the roof of his porch. Nursing a small gash on his hand, Zach stared up at Edgar with murder in his eyes. "G'Ryan kill'd Patrick," Edgar cawed defiantly and fluttered his wings.

"You stay right there, ya sumbitch," and Zach backed toward his front door, disappearing inside. He could hear Edgar's accusing refrain as he opened the closet where he kept his shotgun, an old single shot, open-breech model. Grabbing a handful of shells, Zach headed back to the porch. Shoving the shells in his pocket, he slowly opened the screen door. "I'll fix ya now, ya sumbitch," he said quietly and loaded a shell into the breach. He raised the shotgun and pulled back the hammer.

"G'Ryan kill'd Patrick," Edgar cawed and took flight just as the shotgun blast obliterated the planter of azaleas and took a hefty chunk out of the porch ceiling.

Mrs. Leary was watering her lawn when she heard the blast from across the street. She dropped the hose and squinted to see what was going on. She saw old Zach Ryan standing on his porch loading a shotgun and wondered what on earth he was doing. Then she saw Zach take aim at something in the maple tree in front of his house. When Zach fired the second shot, Mrs. Leary ran into her house and phoned the police.

Edgar had again narrowly escaped the deadly blast from Zach's shotgun, flying from the maple tree up to the peak of Zach's porch roof. Zach stepped out into his yard, carefully searching the maple tree for some sign of Edgar. He slowly walked round the tree, gazing up into the maze of black branches, which had lost most of their leaves to the change of season. He was about ready to give up when Edgar announced his presence, "G'Ryan kill'd Patrick, G'Ryan killed Patrick," from atop his perch.

Zach swung round and brought the shotgun up to his shoulder to took aim. He pulled the trigger just as Oakland City's police chief pulled up to the house. The blast took a chunk out of the porch fascia, but Edgar had already taken to his wings, signaling his disdain with his own shot that landed at Zach's feet as he flew overhead.

"Zach, what the hell are you doing? Put that damn shotgun down!!" Chief Price got out of his patrol car quickly, his right hand on the service pistol he had only removed from the holster to clean in the seventeen years he had been Oakland City's police chief. "Put it down, Zach!" He slowly approached the old man.

Zach held the shotgun loosely at his side, gripping it halfway down the barrel in his left hand. "Teach that sumbitch," he grumbled as Chief Price approached.

"Zach, you alright? Have you lost your mind?!"

Zach didn't seem to hear Chief Price; he was still watching as Edgar circled high above, then headed east toward town. "I'll kill that sumbitch...kill 'im dead, just like Patrick, worthless piece o' shit."

Chief Price started, "Zach, what do you mean, 'just like Patrick'?" grabbing Zach's left arm and pulling the shotgun out of his hand in one motion. Oakland City's other patrol car was just pulling in behind the chief's car. "What about Patrick?" Chief Price continued.

Zach turned, but was gazing past the Chief, a bewildered look on his face. "Tha's right, kill 'im just like Patrick, kill 'im dead. Teach 'im to steal my apples, sumbitch."

"You say Edgar was stealing your apples, Zach?"

"No, not Edgar...Patrick." Now Zach was speaking directly to Chief Price, but the glazed look didn't leave his face. "Caught 'im...caught 'im red-handed, up on that ladder, pretending to be mending his fool birdhouse, but I knew what he 'as up to. So I watched...and waited. I was a'gonna rap his knuckles fer 'im. So, when he reached over to git one of my apples, I took my garden rake and swung at his hand, only..."

"Only what, Zach?" the Chief asked as he motioned for Officer Tooley to stay quiet.

"Only I missed his hand. Hooked the ladder instead, so I yanked it out from under 'im. 'Them's my apples' I tole 'im, 'they's mine'. 'Ceptin' he didn't hear me... he didn't move. Then I see'd his head was split open, so I called an amb'lance." Zach looked down at the ground and spit, "Good riddance, I say. A fella oughtn't steal a fella's apples. 'Them's my apples', that's what I tole 'im, that's..." his voice trailed off and then he looked up at the sky, as if he'd just remembered something. "Then his damned ole crow started accusin' me like that, like he'd seen the whole damned thing...and after I took him in. With 'is beady little black eyes, watchin' me...I knew he was up to no good. Just couldn't wait to start tellin' ever'one I was the one kill'd Patrick.... so I'm a'gonna kill him too," reaching for the shotgun in Chief Price's hand.

"Take it easy Zach, you ain't gonna kill nothing, you hear?" Chief Price took a pair of handcuffs from his belt and slowly walked Zach to his patrol car. Passing Officer Tooley, he instructed in a low voice, "I'll take ole Zach, here to the lockup and call the hospital over at Princeton to see if we can't get someone to come take a look-see. You make sure his house is locked up tight."

As the Chief and Zach drove away, two kids on bicycles rode up to the house; the red-headed boy had Edgar perched on his shoulder. "Coach Tooley," he called, "where they takin' ole man Ryan?" Officer Tooley coached little league in the summer and both Chester and Brian were on his team.

"Oh, hey, Brian...Chester. I'm afraid ole Zach's finally gone off his rocker. They'll probably have to lock him away for awhile."

"Geez...that's too bad," Chester gasped, "but I always knew the ole coot was a loon."

"So, what's going to happen to Edgar?"

"I don't know, Brian, guess we'll just have to let him go free."

Brian thought for a minute, "Think it'd be okay if I kept 'im...just until ole man Ryan is better, I mean."

"Well, I don't think he's gonna get better any time soon. But I guess it'd be okay."

"Cool...I'm teachin' him to talk, ya know...least I was before ole Patrick died."

"Talk? Crows can't talk."

"Sure they can, if you teach 'em. I already got Edgar to say my name, but he has trouble making the 'B' sound. I used to go to Mr. Jessup's and he let me teach 'im." Officer Tooley looked at Brian disbelievingly. "He does talk... he can say my name, Brian...Brian Kilpatrick."