by J E Moore
sitting in his lawn chair with bits of bread and birdseed spread all about him in a twenty-foot wide circle. No birds came to sample his offerings. They kept their distance - sitting on the telephone pole wires until he went back inside his house and left for work at eight a.m.
It was the same routine year after year. The weekends were different: he would sit out in the field for an hour in the morning and the same in the evening - waiting in vain for his 'wild' friends to join him. It made Sophie often wonder why he didn't give up on the wild ones and just tender to the domestics he had and said as much to her husband.
"Because he's a nut job, that's why," retorted Jack.
"Yes, Dear."
Poor Harvey Weinstein. He cherished his own birds, but wanted more - the affection of the wild ones also. Isn't that a typical human weakness to seek after what we can't have? Sometimes even to our own detriment? For eleven years, he watched from inside his house the blue jays, brown and grey doves, black birds and a dozen other varieties enjoy his foods, water dish, handmade birdhouse and a perch he bought and assembled in the hope of luring their elusive companionship.
He lived in a small two bedroom 1970's 'starter house' located in a neighborhood consisting mostly of fifty years or older residents (primarily retirees). It certainly suited his needs, he being alone and never been married. Most of the folks around him were basically in the same situation. There were perhaps as few as three children in the entire complex of a hundred homes. Quiet, just right - nothing to scare the wildlife away. His house, in a string of seven, butted up against a nine acre lot owned by a Baptist church group who were 'temporally' having their services in an elementary school auditorium ( for the last ten years ) due to the fact they had over-extended themselves financially in buying the large piece of 'rural property'. Their hope for developing this land into a permanent church site in the near future had been hamstrung by the meager cash flow from their small congregation. However, placing their unrealized good intentions aside, the town ordinances still required them to keep the property maintained even though there was no activity other than an occasional member's picnic... thus creating a perfect 'status quo' situation for the neighborhood and especially Mister Weinstein.
But alas, for only Harvey, it seemed there was always something to screw things up his plans. One particular irritating drawback to our bird-lover's pursuit was that even if he moved his lawn chair into the middle of the most open part of the church's field, he discovered he still couldn't lure the birds in to feed. "Most strange and very wrong indeed," he reasoned and felt denied of what he rightfully deserved. He deduced the birds were afraid to come to him because of those nosy, prying busybodies next door. "They're always looking out their windows at me. The birds can sense they're being watched. At least I have enough sense to turn the lights out, put a black towel over my head and hide behind my living room couch when I watch them. Those stupid gawkers really tick me off! As a matter of fact, all the gawking, damn neighbors tick me off," he fumed as he picked up his folding chair and threw it toward his house.
As expected, things again turned quite the worst for our unlucky Harvey: his weekly work schedule at the library changed to10 a.m. to 7 p.m. which now gave him only one opportunity to observe or try to entice his quarry. He argued his case to retain his current hours to his supervisor, the new guy, who laughed so hard he almost passed out. "You want to keep your current hours so you can try to feed birds which have never shown up in three years! Look, guy, I know that's real tough on you but I now have to provide adequate job coverage with two less people because of those retirements last month. Birds... silly me. And to think I was told before I transferred to this department we had 'team players' working here - apparently, not all! Whatta joke on me!" and laughed some more.
His fellow co-workers had long considered the obnoxious Mister Weinstein to be many cards short of a full deck and this well-deserved embarrassment to him served as great entertainment.
Then, one typical Saturday morning as Harvey sat in his lawn chair in the middle of the field bemoaning and cursing his fate a stranger walked out of the underbrush toward him. He didn't immediately notice the tall, slender man donned in black because he was engrossed in scanning the trees as he mumbled and spat on the grass.
"Hello, partner," hailed the approaching figure.
"Shush!" rebuked Harvey. "You'll scare away my birds."
"Sorry, friend," returned the newcomer. "I've been watching and didn't see any. In fact, I've been watching you for quite a while and..."
"Quite a while?" interrupted Harvey. "Are you some kind of stalker? You better be careful, Buster. I was quite the man not too long ago and I can still put most men down."
"I'm sure you can," agreed the intruder as he viewed the fat, one hundred pound overweight couch-potato wedged into his extra-heavy duty constructed chair. "No offense, friend. I just came over to help you with that little problem you're having."
"I ain't having a problem, Mister."
"Oh, sorry again. I had the impression you wanted some up-close and personal feathery company. My mistake?"
Harvey cleared his throat as he eyed his smiling visitor's matching black cowboy hat, shirt, jeans and boots. "Oh, that... well, er." He quickly assumed his usual belligerent demeanor. "So what's it to you? Who do you represent? The Audubon Society? Got some hot tips for me? You can forget it, Bub. I've read all the books. These little peckers just won't come to me." He rested his chubby chin on his chest, "I must be cursed."
"Well now that's an outright shame," asserted Mister Black. "I don't think it should be that way at all, especially for a caring man such as yourself." This perked up Harvey's ears and stoked his ego.
"Damn straight," agreed Weinstein. "I guess I could bring myself to accept a good suggestion from a fellow bird-lover if I had a mind to."
"Glad to hear, sir but let me tell you right off I'm not affiliated with any particular group as you would know it and I'm not asking for money. However, I can assure you I can definitely help you fulfill your wishes regarding these birds and many other things if you so desire." Harvey gave him a discerning scowl meaning the 'other things' had better not be sexual in nature. "Oh, no, Harv," reading his mind. "Just two friends sharing their thoughts. Trust me, nothing else. So now we've broken the ice, what in the heck do you want? I mean, you're been sitting out here countless hours... months... years. Tell me. Just between the two of us." He opened both arms wide like an evangelist, "I know I can help you. Speak to me, Buddy."
Harvey, although distrusting and cantankerous as ever finally broke down and confessed, "I want birds to pet, lotsa birds... different from the usual domestic ones living in my cages. Is that so wrong? I want to be able to touch and love the outside ones also. Do you think I'm crazy? Hell, I've seen it on TV. Why not me too?"
"No, no, friend. Nothing wrong with that." He paused, "But you must understand those people you've seen on TV had to pay a price for such a privilege."
"A price? What do you mean?"
Mister Black rattled off some of the possible corporate details with, "Training, props, sponsorship, insurance and who knows what else. It's a complex presentation."
Harvey considered, "Oh, well sure," admitting it was logical for concessions and coordination being made.
The visitor smiled to himself and asked, "And you my friend, what would you be willing to concede for a short period of time in order to receive prized moments with your new-found friends? Wonderful experiences which no one else could have... only you, Harvey Weinstein."
"Concede?" caught his ear. "Do you mean to give up something?" The stranger nodded, 'Yes'. "It depends on what it is. Why would you ask such a dumb question?"
"Because I can make it happen for you."
"Sure," Harvey mocked. "You have a magic trick or some kind of bird-attracting whistle or mating scent spray?"
"No tricks or gimmicks," he laughed. "But I do have a gift... a sort of a power I'll use, for you."
Weinstein pondered t
his offer while thinking, "What the hell: I've got nothing to lose. Did he say I had to pay a price? I don't remember," and concern crossed his brow.
Mister Black saw him mulling over the prospect and offered, "Tell you what Harvey. I'll give you a free demonstration for a week. Say we start this coming Monday? It'll be for Monday through Saturday... not on Sunday. Then we'll talk some more... talk price. Whatta you say, Harv? A free demonstration."
"Free? Well sure. Er, who do I call you, what's your name?"
"Oh, just call me Mister Black," as he pointed at his clothing. "Simple," and gave a reassuring 'thumbs up'. "Just come on out here Monday morning, do your usual routine and see what happens."
Harvey rose up, faced his house, folded up his chair and remarked, "Can you do anything about these piss-ant neighbors of mine?"
No reply. Mister Black had disappeared.
Monday morning
Harvey didn't sleep well for the last two nights due to fitful anticipation and as he finally shuffled out into the middle of the field carrying his trusty lawn chair and a plastic bag full of bread crumbs he was already in a surly, semi-depressed mood. He felt sure he was being taken for the fool. Mister Black was most likely hiding in the brush, perhaps even videotaping 'dumb-ass' Harvey Weinstein. "Those scumbags living next door undoubtedly hired him.
