Jane Hanna's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

The hose worked. For three evenings the roof drank and bloomed. Bees rolled through the borage. Ants moved in dark lines along the pot rims. Jumpers stitched the berry bush. Jane stood at the wall each dusk and watched the air fill up. Then the numbers dropped. On the fourth evening she counted half the bees. On the fifth, fewer. The ant lines thinned. A jumper she had watched for a week was gone from its usual leaf. Jane crouched by the alyssum and looked for bodies. She found none. Something was taking them clean. She sat still against the low wall and waited. She did not have to wait long. A yellow bird dropped onto the edge of a raised bed. Small, bright, quick. It cocked its head, snapped a bee off the borage, and lifted away. A robin landed on the concrete slab and worked the base of a pot, pulling ants one by one. Then the sparrows came. Six, then ten, then more than she could count. They fell on the garden like it had been set out for them. Jane stood up. The flock scattered, circled, and settled again ten feet down the bed. They were not afraid of her. They were hungry, and the roof was a plate. She waved her arms. They lifted and dropped. She clapped. They lifted and dropped. In two minutes they had cleared the borage of every bee she could see. She went down the stairs fast. She was crossing the second floor landing when the principal came around the corner with a folder under her arm. White hair pinned up, glasses, black suit. Jane's boss's boss. The woman who could lock the roof again with one sentence. "Ms. Hanna." Principal Ashford stopped. "There are birds on the roof. A great many birds. Parents can see them from the parking lot." Jane's mouth went dry. "Yes, ma'am." "Why are there birds on my roof." Jane thought about lying. She could not think of a lie fast enough. "I've been growing plants up there. The old garden. The birds are eating the insects the plants brought in." Ashford looked at her for a long moment. "Show me." They climbed together. Jane opened the door. The sparrows lifted in a brown wave and settled on the parapet, watching. The beds were green and full. The pots held their small survivors. A single bee crossed the thyme and vanished into a crack. Ashford walked the slab once. She touched a strawberry leaf. She looked at the pot windbreaks, the hose coiled by the spigot, the neat rows. "You did this on your own time." "Yes." "The birds have to go. Today. Parents will call." She turned at the door. "The garden stays. For now. Fix the birds by Monday, Ms. Hanna, or I lock the door again." The door shut. Jane looked at the sparrows on the parapet. They looked back.