by John Morano
“I remember your grandmother, Pakeet.”
Lupé’s perspective of Tapao instantly shifted. He saw the petrel through different eyes and realized how old he actually was. Tapao was a very old bird that looked like an ordinary middle-aged petrel. The ends of Tapao’s dark feathers were thin and faded to the color of fog in the afternoon, but other than that, it was almost impossible to guess the petrel’s age. Lupé found this quite amusing. Then it sank in. Here was a bird who had known his grandmother.
“Tell me about her,” Lupé said.
“I will be happy to,” Tapao said with a smile. “But not tonight.”
Although he was just hatching to find out, Lupé did not press. Tapao seemed reluctant to go any further, so he would wait. The leader rose and stretched his wings to leave. But before he left, Tapao explained that there was a group of young Darums who met with an instructor almost every day. He asked if Lupé would consider telling the group about his experiences with the whales. Tapao wanted the youth to learn as many different feeding techniques as possible. The leader guessed that in the future, feeding might not be so easy. The greater knowledge might help feed the flock one day.
Lupé agreed right away. He liked youngsters and thought this would be a good way to show the flock he was no threat.
The petrel’s enthusiasm pleased Tapao. He told Lupé to fly away from the rising sun and he would find the group in deep water over the cold current.
The two parted with good feelings between them. Tapao impressed Lupé as an old sky-faring soul, packed with charm and wisdom. He believed he could learn from the soft-spoken leader and hoped Tapao would soon tell him more about meeting Pakeet. After the Darum had gone, Lupé wondered who the flock would fly with if peck ever came to bite, Tapao or Bog? One was the type of bird who inspired; the other made you afraid.
Next morning, Lupé left very early to find the site where the youngsters gathered to learn. When the tip of the sun peeked over the sea, Lupé was already on the wing. Having flown for some time without seeing any others, the petrel became concerned. Was this some kind of trick? Did the Darum leader want to lure Lupé out to sea and then attack him? No, the petrel did not think he had misjudged Tapao. Then it occurred to him that he might just be too early. Lupé turned back to Galahope, hoping to stumble upon the group as they flew out to sea.
And stumble he did. Lupé was intercepted by two young petrels from the Darum flock. They were flying with the reckless abandon of one who is still testing the limits of her wings. The youngsters plummeted from above, attempting to criss-cross in front of Lupé. It was a perfect example of what sea birds call “sealing.” The birds know there isn’t a bigger show-off on the planet than a seal.
Unfortunately, one of the two decided to criss rather than cross. They struck wings and fell flapping and spiraling into… Lupé, who tumbled for a moment but regained himself just in time to see the youngsters crash with a splash.
They came up choking and laughing, an adolescent pair who looked to be brother and sister.
“Radical seal!” the brother screeched.
“Yeah, proper dip!” The sister laughed. “But we better get back.”
“Sirka won’t be happy with us.” The brother thought for a moment while they floated on the sea. Neither of the birds seemed to notice Lupé at this point, and he suggested, “Maybe we better tell her the tuna story again.”
“That one’s totally dry. Besides, no matter what we say, she’ll know we were sealing.”
“But not that we got dipped!”
“And a flighteous dip it was!” the sister agreed.
Laughing, they brushed wings. Then they noticed Lupé hovering overhead. The two birds popped into the air and, in unison, said, “Sorry, bird.” The sister added, “Didn’t mean to flip you.” Having said their apology, they were off again, flying like terns in a tornado.
Lupé had a pretty good idea where they were headed. He got a bearing on their direction, which was no easy task, and followed along behind the wild pair.
Up ahead, beyond the truant twins, Lupé saw a formation of petrels approaching, led by a very capable flier. That must be the instructor, he guessed. The strongest bird always flies first so that he or she can split the wind for those who follow. It is a position of honor for the bird and a sign of respect for the wind.
Ten youngsters trailed behind the instructor, the smallest of which was just a peck of a bird. Lupé watched the sister and brother approach. The group stopped, and the lead bird flew off with the two. When the three returned, the brother and sister were flying straighter and tighter than Lupé had ever seen. The group broke off into pairs. Lupé saw that Tapao was not among them. As he glided closer, he wondered whether the instructor would be more like Tapao or Bog. It was time to find out.
Lupé flew up behind the one who was obviously in charge, the lone adult. The youngsters paid little attention to his arrival. They were busy with their latest assignment, running on the surface of the sea. This teacher seemed to start with the basics, and Lupé liked that.
What happened next caught Lupé slightly by surprise. The instructor turned around to face him. She was a female. Lupé had taken for granted that he would find a male. He tried to hide his surprise and asked himself why he had made such an assumption. At the same time, he explained who he was and why Tapao had sent him.
The instructor, whose name was Sirka, listened courteously, even though Tapao had not informed her about inviting Lupé to visit her group. Before he was through with his introduction, Lupé apologized at his apparent surprise at finding a female instructor. He explained that he had never seen a gathering like this before, that anytime he saw youngsters being taught to fish, it was done by a male, usually a relative.
Sirka was not pleased with Lupé’s comments, although she did respect his candor. It was obviously not the first time someone had drawn a distinction between her gender and her position. Sirka calmly said, “There are three reasons why I am here. The first is that I believe it’s important for the young to learn how to feed themselves. Secondly, I happen to be the best fisher-bird in the flock. And lastly, this is not a duty others are screeching to get.”
“Why is that?” Lupé asked. “Most flocks and families hold the teaching of their young in the highest light.”
“So did mine,” Sirka added.
“Well, when did they stop thinking that way?”
“When the flock’s best fisher-bird became a female.” Sirka continued, “Actually, Tapao and many others believe in what I’m doing, but there are those who don’t.”
“Let me take a wild guess,” Lupé said rhetorically. “Could Bog be one of them?” He neither needed nor received an answer.
The more he thought about it, the more Lupé liked the idea of a female instructor. “Why not?” he asked himself. The petrel looked forward to seeing just how good the Darum’s best fisher-bird really was.
Sirka turned to the youngsters and said one word. “Plunge.”
The smaller petrels climbed into the sky and paused, and then an avalanche of tiny birds rained on the sea. As soon as they struck the water, they darted back into the sky and plunged again.
While the students were busy with their latest exercise, Sirka spoke with Lupé. Rather than explain when he would address the group, Sirka politely suggested that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for Lupé to speak at all.
She said, “Students need someone they can depend on. Anyone can fly in here, say a few words, and leave. What these youngsters need is someone to work with them, to be here for them.”
“Well, all Tapao asked…” Lupé defended.
“I know, I know. I appreciate your coming out here. And please don’t think that I’m asking you to work with us on a regular basis. Actually, that brings me to my other reason.”
“You have another reason why it’s not a good idea for me to be here?” Lupé couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea f
or you to speak to the group, because, well… Do you really think you have the skills?”
“The what?!” Lupé was screechless.
“I just get the feeling,” Sirka continued, “that maybe your flock doesn’t know as much about fishing as the Darums. Honestly, the last time I saw you, you couldn’t even stand up.”
Then Lupé realized… she was the one at the shore. No wonder she thought he was such a clam. It relieved Lupé to know he was far enough from shore that Stithl couldn’t possibly see or hear what was going on. Sirka noticed a student who concerned her, and she flew off. The young petrel was catching fish but dropping them in the sea. Most were dead or injured when he released them. Sirka flew at him and deflected his dive before he could take another fish from the ocean.
She hovered over the water with him and said, “We fish for one reason. If you’re not going to eat it, don’t kill it.” The instructor was firm but gentle. Her student understood, and so did Lupé. Like Tapao, Sirka flew the good flight.
Since she had cast aspersions on the fishing prowess of the Gwattas, Lupé felt he had something to prove to Sirka. Looking around, he noticed that several of the younger birds were getting wobbly from hitting the water with their heads. Lupé could see that they really didn’t have the strength yet for the technique they were practicing, so he gathered them together and showed them another.
The petrels listened as Lupé said, “I bet you’re feeling a little dizzy right about now.” The youngsters nodded their spinning little heads. “Then let me show you a way to fish that’s a lot of fun… and a lot less painful.”
One brave student peeped, “But all of the fish have gone.”
“Well,” Lupé answered, “when it comes to fish, the currents may think they are in control, but a little skill can make a big difference. So if you do this right, your head won’t hurt, and the fish might just come back.”
The young ones became very interested. They realized they were about to learn something the older students didn’t know, something maybe even Sirka didn’t know.
“This is a technique I learned from the Skimmers. So what do you think it’s called?”
There was a pause, a silence. Tiny brains were hard at work. Then a shaky voice peeped, “Skimming?”
“Good!” Lupé enthused. He hadn’t noticed, but Sirka watched from a safe distance. Behind her, the rest of the class also looked on.
“Have any of you seen a skimmer before?” Little heads with petite beaks shook from side to side, signaling they had not.
“A skimmer is just about my size. It’s white with black trim, but the most fascinating thing about the skimmer is its big orange-and-black beak. The lower half is much larger and longer than the upper half, so they do this technique a bit better than we will, but that doesn’t mean it can’t work for you.”
Lupé lined the birds up wing to wing. He flew with them back and forth across a small, flat patch of sea. After each pass, he told them to fly a flap lower until they got as low as they could without actually touching the water. The youngsters were already very good on the wing. They mastered this skill easily, and Lupé praised them lavishly.
“How low can you go?” he dared.
Next, he challenged them to fly as they had been doing, but he told the birds to drag their beaks in and out of the water. After a few passes and a couple dipped petrels, they mastered the timing of the task.
Finally, Lupé told them to do just what they had been doing, but to open their beaks this time, slipping only the lower half into the sea. For the first few passes, the little ones gagged on the water that streamed into their throats. Eventually, they got the hang of it. When the small group could fly across the water, running their beaks along the surface without stumbling or choking, Lupé explained the skimmers’ method.
“Are any of you wondering what we’re doing?” he asked.
“I am,” Sirka spoke. She grinned and came closer, the others following behind her. Lupé’s audience was larger than he had thought.
One of the little ones said, “We’ve worked very hard, but we haven’t caught any fish. And I’m getting hungry.”
“Well, now that you’re an expert skimmer, let’s fish,” Lupé replied. He darted across the calm sea, slicing his closed beak through the water. A silvery line trailed behind him where the sun caught the crease in the sea. Lupé turned sharply and retraced the fading line with an open beak. In an instant, he snapped it shut and popped into the air. He returned to the youngsters and dropped something into the open mouth of the hungry student.
The little petrel swallowed. “It works,” he declared. “It’s a fish!”
With that, Lupé’s little group raced belly feathers above the sea, dragging their beaks through the water. Before they completed one pass, the older ones joined in. Soon, everyone was catching fish like skimmers. One of the youngsters, who had a slight overbeak, had some trouble until he angled his head sideways. With the larger half of his beak in the water, he skimmed out more fish than any of the others. Lupé was astounded how skillfully the youngster and his classmates flew.
While all this was going on, Tapao quietly drifted in. He floated off to one side and sat on the water unnoticed, observing the scene.
Several youngsters who were having difficulty asked Lupé to demonstrate once more. He looked to Sirka for approval. She waved him on and then joined the small group, saying, “You didn’t ask my permission the first time. Why start now?”
Lupé performed the technique just as he had previously. Well, maybe this time he did it with a little more flair than was needed. Obviously impressed with himself, Lupé glided past the group with a large silver fish hanging across his beak.
With fish in mouth, he mumbled a proclamation. “The skimmers say, ‘A frish in the break is worf trwo in the srurf.’”
The instant Lupé said the word “srurf,” Sirka shot up from the sea and bit Lupé’s tail. He was so stunned that the fish slipped from his mouth and fell toward the green water. But before it struck, Sirka cut underneath and snatched the treat for herself. She splashed down in front of the group and said, “Now tell Lupé what the Darums say.”
In unison—Tapao included—they recited, “A fish in the belly is worth two in the beak.”
Petrels have a phrase for what Sirka did to Lupé. They called it “having your beak cleaned.” It was something youngsters would do to each other all the time. It was also something any mature petrel should have been able to avoid. Worse than the embarrassment, Sirka had taken the fish just as the taste teased Lupé’s tongue. He was left with nothing but an empty sensation in his belly, juices flowing with nothing to digest.
That was the worst of it, but as Lupé usually found the case to be, there was also a good side. It had been a long time since he had had his beak cleaned. It signaled that Lupé was back among petrels—among friends, he hoped.
Lupé nodded humbly. He was thankful that others could not see the crimson flesh beneath his feathers. “Now I have learned,” he said with metaphorical egg on his face.
When everyone was done laughing at Lupé, the youngsters returned to skimming. Having seen the technique demonstrated, Sirka could now perform it flawlessly as she helped those who could not.
The two petrels that had crashed into Lupé earlier in the day approached him. The female said, “Hi. We just wanted to tell you that we weren’t sealing around before because we’re major squids or anything. We just love flying so much, we get into trouble sometimes.” The brother nodded enthusiastically as his sister spoke.
Lupé could see that the two birds loved to fly. Not even their thick plumage could hide their massive chest and wing muscles, the type of muscles that only come from being constantly in the air. “The part about loving to fly makes a lot of sense to me,” Lupé said, “but I’m not sure I see the connection from that to getting into trouble.”
The two birds looked at Lupé as though he couldn’t see the ocean beneath him.
Then the brothe
r asked, “Well, now that we’ve explained ourselves, would you be so glide as to aid us with that completely current skimming thing?”
A request like that, Lupé could not refuse, partly because he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. He was ready to fly off with the two petrels when he noticed Tapao and Sirka talking. The flock’s leader called him over.
Tapao began by asking Lupé if he would be interested in working with the group whenever he could find the time. The leader pointed out that even though they weren’t as bad off as the Gwattas, the Darums’ numbers had fallen. Tapao was genuinely concerned.
Lupé, however, directed his response to Sirka. He wanted to know how she felt.
“If you don’t want to come on a regular basis, you would still be welcome to drop in on us. It’s okay with me,” Sirka said, somewhat unenthusiastically. She looked at the skimming frenzy, smiled, and added, “They seem to like you.”
“But do you?” Lupé asked.
Sirka clenched her beak like she had swallowed a rancid clam, nodded her head three times, and said, “I think so.”
Lupé looked at the two petrels facing him. He found himself promising, “As long as I am on these islands, I will make time for the youngsters.”
Tapao seemed pleased. Sirka seemed surprised. She said, “Lupé, you seem to be a nice enough petrel, but I don’t really know you, so I think I should speak my mind in front of both you and Tapao. I don’t want to see some competitive thing come up between us.”
“Like cleaning one’s beak?” the cleanee asked the cleaner.
Sirka acknowledged the point and continued, “I just don’t want any male-female competition to get in the way of what we do here. It’s important to me because it’s important to them. They will mimic what they see us do.”
Lupé thought for a moment. He tried to put himself in Sirka’s feathers. After all, this was really her domain. He was the outsider—the invader. So Lupé said, “You couldn’t be more right. It seems to me there’s really only one way to do this. It’s your group. I’ll help however I can, however you want me to.”
