From an Our Wright Side writing prompt, here's a story about a drug-addicted duck. Well, not really. Enjoy. :)
Gato the Duck
I knocked on the front screen door. It was a sturdy metal screen. Some rust here and there, but it would definitely stop someone from entering. I glanced over. The front window too was covered in protective iron bars. I remembered her saying her grandpa was a welder. He probably made both himself. I looked down, wishing I had nicer shoes, and then quickly brushed off the front of my shirt where flakes of Krispy Kreme frosting had wandered off my donut earlier.
Locks unlatched, one by one. This didn't really seem like a bad neighborhood. It definitely was a lot better than mine! The door opened as I had these thoughts and through the mesh of the screen I saw someone tall.
He looked my age, maybe a little younger. While I had shaved off my peach fuzz before coming over, he was letting his darker face fur grow out. We grunted a mutual "Hey," and he let me in.
"It's some Gringo!" he said as he turned around and walked away, back into the house.
"Hi," I said to his back. "I'm Michael."
And then I saw her bounce into view. Elena. That smile was the reason I rode in the bed of my uncle's truck for over an hour in the hot summer sun.
"Michael!" she said, giving me a hug. "You made it!"
I caught my breath for a moment. "Yeah, I hitched a ride with my uncle. He'll be back to pick me up at five." I turned around and locked the screen and door. The sudden darkness inside was jarring. Outside was sunny and hot. Odd sounds and smells assailed me. An unseen TV was blaring a Spanish channel. Food aromas, pet odors and roses all competed inside my nose.
I followed Elena through the narrow kitchen. A pan of something delicious-smelling but unidentifiable was on the stove. In the living room Elena introduced me to her grandparents as 'her friend'. Grandpa stopped watching TV long enough to accept my handshake. Grandma, small and fragile-looking, got up slowly and asked me if I wanted something to eat. "No thanks ma'am."
She went into the kitchen anyways and started making me a plate of food. They seemed very nice. The guy who let me in was nowhere to be seen. "Who opened the front door?"
"Oh that was my younger brother Manny. Come on. Let's go in the back."
Younger? At sixteen I was still growing, but he was a giant! I followed Elena. We went out the back of the house and into a work area filled with odds and ends. A quack and a flash of white crossed my feet as I just missed stepping on a duck! The thought made me laugh loudly. When my dad farts, he always says, "Ooh! Must've stepped on a duck!"
As I stood there grinning, my head whipping around to find the duck, a cat's tail brushed my thigh. This place was a zoo! "What cute animals you have! What are their names?"
Elena smiled. "Well, the cat's Pato and the duck is Gato. Though, really you can call them whatever you like because they never answer when you call them anyways. They just come and go as they please."
"Uh, Pato and Gato, uh?" My mind tripped over the few words I knew of Spanish.
"Yeah, my grandma named them. My grandpa wanted to call the duck Canard."
"That's a lie!" someone shouted from outside the work area. "Don't listen to her!" Sounded like Manny.
Elena shot back. "No it's true! My grandfather was learning French for a trip to Paris and he said he wanted to name the duck Canard because it means duck in French!"
We joined Manny as we went out into the heat of the backyard. Roses and bougainvillea were everywhere. We sat at a wooden picnic table under a wooden trellis covered in magenta
bougainvillea blooms. Elena's grandma called from inside for Elena. She went into the house and the two of them returned a few moments later with tortillas, lemonade and plates of food.
We ate, sweating but enjoying ourselves immensely. The lemonade was iced and perfect.
In between bites of rice and beans, Manny spoke. "Did Elena tell you the duck can talk?"
I looked at Elena, then Manny. He was smiling but sounded serious. "Pato can talk?"
Elena slapped her brother on the arm. "Gato. His name is Gato. The cat's name is Pato. And neither one of them can talk! Manny's pulling your leg."
"No it's true!" Manny smiled. "He's a drug-addicted duck from East LA,-"
Elena put her hand on my forearm then and said, "Just like you!"
"Hey!" I protested weakly. "I'm not addicted!"
Manny glared at his sister, "Anyways. The guy we got him from said he should be fine as long as we kept him near the house."
"So, um, Gato is a druggie duck from East LA?"
"Yep." Elena and Manny both smiled at me.
"No way!"
"Way! Watch, I'll show you." With that, Manny got up and fetched the duck. With the duck in his lap, Manny said, "Hey Gato, what's your poison? What drug are you addicted to?"
"Quack!" Gato the duck said.
We all howled with laughter.
"What a Canard!"
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Some after-tale comments. You don't need to read further to enjoy the story, but you might get more out of it if you continue reading.
The writing prompt was to use the word canard and/or the word rumor. Also, for those who don't know, gato is cat and pato is duck in Spanish, so the animals are misnamed in the story, on purpose. Also, the word canard does indeed mean duck in French, but it also means a lie or ruse, like a false story or tall tale. The setting is modeled after the house of my grandparents on my mother's side. My grandfather was indeed a welder, though to my knowledge they never had a duck, of any name.
Similar to one of my other short stories, titled Ghost Garden, this one was written with one of my children in mind. Love you son.
Picture for today, along with a link:
Gato Pato: A book about Duck Cat, or is it Cat Duck?
