Papa’s Parrot - by Cynthia Rylant

Though his father was fat and merely owned a candy and nut shop, Harry Tillian liked

his papa. Harry stopped liking candy and nuts when he was around seven, but, in spite

of this, he and Mr. Tillian had remained friends and were still friends the year Harry

turned twelve.

For years, after school, Harry had always stopped in to see his father at work Many of

Harry’s friends stopped there, too, to spend a few cents choosing penny candy from the

giant bins or to sample Mr. Tillian’s latest batch of roasted peanuts. Mr. Tillian looked

forward to seeing his son and his son’s friends every day. He liked the company.

When Harry entered junior high school, though, he didn’t come by the candy and nut

shop as often. Nor did his friends. They were older and they had more spending money.

They went to a burger place. They played video games. They shopped for records.

None of them were much interested in candy and nuts anymore.

A new group of children came to Mr. Tillian’s shop now. But not Harry Tillian and his

friends.

The year Harry turned twelve was also the year Mr. Tillian got a parrot. He went to a pet

store one day and bought one for more money than he could really afford. He brought

the parrot to his shop, set its cage near the sign for maple clusters, and named it Rocky.

Harry thought this was the strangest thing his father had ever done, and he told him so,

but Mr. Tillian just ignored him.

Rocky was good company for Mr. Tillian. when business was slow, Mr. Tillian would turn

on a small color television he had sitting in a corner, and he and Rocky would watch the

soap operas. Rocky liked to scream when the romantic music came on, and Mr. Tillian

would yell at him to shut up, but they seemed to enjoy themselves.

The more Mr. Tillian grew to like his parrot, and the more he talked to it instead of to

people, the more embarrassed Harry became. Harry would stroll past the shop, on his

way somewhere else, and he’d take a quick look inside to see what his dad was doing.

Mr. Tillian was always talking to the bird. So Harry kept walking.

At home things were different. Harry and his father joked with each other at the dinner

table as they always had – Mr. Tillian teasing Harry about his smelly socks; Harry

teasing Mr. Tillian about his blubbery stomach. At home things seemed all right.

But one day, Mr. Tillian became ill. He had been at work, unpacking boxes of caramels,

when he had grabbed his chest and fallen over on top of the candy. A customer ha

found him, and he was taken to the hospital in an ambulance.

Mr. Tillian couldn’t leave the hospital. He lay in bed, tubes in his arms, and he worried

about his shop. New shipments of candy and nuts would be arriving. Rocky would be

hungry . Who would take care of things? Harry said he would. Harry told his father that

he would go to the store every day after school and unpack boxes. He would sort out all

the candy and nuts. He would even feed Rocky.

So, the next morning, while Mr. Tillian lay in his hospital bed, Harry took the shop key to

school with him. After school he left his friends and walked to the empty shop alone. In

all the days of his life, Harry had never seen the shop closed after school. Harry didn’t

even remember what the CLOSED sign looked like. The key stuck in the lock three

times, and inside he had to search all the walls for the light switch.

The shop was as his father had left it. Even the caramels were still spilled on the floor.

Harry bent down and picked them up one by one, dropping them back in the boxes. The

bird in its cage watched him silently. Harry opened the new boxes his father hadn’t got

to. Peppermints. Jawbreakers. Toffee creams, Strawberry kisses. Harry traveled from

bin to bin, putting the candies where they belonged.

“Hello!”

Harry jumped, spilling a box of jawbreakers.

“Hello, Rocky!”

Harry stared at the parrot. He had forgotten it was there. The bird had been so quiet,

and Harry had been thinking of the candy.

“Hello,” Harry said.

“Hello, Rocky!” answered the parrot.

Harry walked slowly over to the cage. The parrot’s food cup was empty. Its water was

dirty. The bottom of the cage was a mess.

Harry carried the cage into the back room.

“Hello, Rocky!”

“Is that all you can say, you dumb bird?” Harry mumbled. The bird said nothing else.

Harry cleaned the bottom of the cage, refilling the food and water cups, and then put the

cage back in its place and resumed sorting the candy.

“Where’s Harry?”

Harry looked up.

“Where’s Harry?”

Harry stared at the parrot.

“Where’s Harry?”

Chills ran down Harry’s back. What could the bird mean? It was something from “The

Twilight Zone.”

“Where’s Harry?”

Harry swallowed and said, “I’m here, I’m here, you stupid bird.”

“You stupid bird!” said the parrot.

Well, at least he’s got one thing strait, thought Harry.

“Miss him! Miss him! Where’s Harry? You stupid bird!”

Harry stood with a handful of peppermints.

“What?” he asked.

“Where’s Harry?” said the parrot.

and the bird screamed and clung to its perch.

Harry sobbed, “I’m here.” The tears were coming.

Harry leaned over the glass counter.

“Papa.” Harry buried his face in his arms.

“Where’s Harry?” repeated the bird.

Harry signed and wiped his face on his sleeve. He watched the parrot. He understood

now: someone has been saying, for a long time, “Where’s Harry? Miss him.”

Harry finished his unpacking and then swept the floor of the shop. He checked the

furnace and so the bird wouldn’t get cold. Then he left to go visit his papa.