by John Morano
Sirka turned to Tapao and said, “It’s okay with me. I think Lupé will help us a great deal.”
“Then it’s done,” Tapao declared.
Lupé shrugged his wings and nodded. Part of him felt good to be involved with a flock of petrels, and part of him wondered if it might be wiser to stay away.
The petrel’s thought was broken when Tapao asked Lupé to return to Galahope with him. The leader explained right away that he wanted Lupé to meet with Bog. Tapao hoped the two birds could be friends, and he thought another meeting might help. Lupé wasn’t so sure, but he flew along anyway.
On the flight back, Lupé tried to decide how he felt about what was happening to him. He had conflicting emotions. He had to admit to himself that he felt comfortable and that he was as happy as he’d been in a long time. It was nice to be with petrels, but they really weren’t his flock. So Lupé couldn’t help wondering whether it would be wise to leave, to keep searching for his own kind. But if he really believed that Galahope and the Islands of Life were the same, then he must be where Pettr wanted him to be.
As if all this wasn’t confusing enough, another thought took flight. Many pairs of birds arrived at their nesting sites at approximately the same time, even though each individual might come from a very different place. Maybe this was where Pettr wanted Lupé to wait to be sent a mate. And as long as he was here waiting, Lupé saw no reason why he should not help the Darums. If he ever did start a Gwatta flock on these islands, he might need their help. Lupé had a strange feeling that the nest he had just built could be the home for the future of his flock.
Until Pettr led him differently, he would trust the voice within, wait here, and continue to pray for the answer, whatever it might be. If he just kept flying the good flight, Lupé believed Pettr would provide.
Floating down from above, Lupé and Tapao descended on the island. Bog had likely been alerted to their arrival, because he and several others waited on a boulder just beyond the reach of the surf. When he could see for himself who it was that flew with Tapao, Bog became visibly upset. Just as fog or clouds can remove the sun from the afternoon sky, hate steamed up and covered any traces of understanding that Bog might have. He became as cold and hard as the rock he perched on.
Tapao landed on the same boulder as Bog. When the leader touched down, all but Bog left the rock. Lupé placed himself next to Tapao, across from Bog. He knew which bird he’d have to watch.
Bog did not hesitate or preamble with pleasantries. “I don’t want him here.”
“You don’t?” Tapao asked.
“He will be trouble. He does not belong and never will.”
“Why doesn’t he belong?” the leader questioned.
Lupé kept his beak shut. No one had to tell him to clam up.
“I don’t want him here,” Bog bellowed, “because there’s not enough food, nesting sites… or females.”
When Lupé heard that, he couldn’t help but sputter. Tapao also grinned, but Bog didn’t. He was serious. That laugh and that smile were only two more reasons for him to hate the outsider.
Lupé stared at the crooked, battle-chipped beak across from him. While the two Darums continued disagreeing, Lupé imagined what type of scar Bog’s beak would leave on a victim, but his attention returned to the discussion at wing when he heard…
“We don’t need him. What can he do for us other than cause trouble? And mark my words, he will be trouble.”
“I’m sure you’ll do your best to see that he is,” Tapao responded. Then he told Bog, “Lupé will teach the young with Sirka. He is to be treated as one of the flock.”
“I should have guessed,” Bog sneered. “He belongs with those hatchlings and that female.”
Now it was time for Lupé to speak. It really wasn’t, but the petrel couldn’t stand by and listen to Bog any longer. He also didn’t want Bog to think this “outsider” was weak or afraid, so he said, “The female I saw today could teach you a few things about feeding and flying.”
Bog seemed stunned. He turned to Lupé. Rage poured from his eyes, soaked his dark feathers, and dripped all around him.
Lupé, occasionally one to take things a flap too far, continued, “But then again, you’re probably not ready for Sirka yet. You’d probably learn more from the hatchlings at this point.”
Lupé became silent when Tapao cast him a disappointed look. It was not the reaction Lupé hoped his outburst would elicit.
The petrel changed his tone, “I only want to do what I can for the young, to help them become proud petrels.”
“Proud petrels like you, I suppose,” Bog shot back with disdain. “Why do you want to help us? Why is it important to you? And what would you know about petrels? Look at you.”
Lupé remained composed. “Certainly, I look more like a petrel than a pigeon.” Bog did not know what a pigeon was, so he did not like the sound of this at all. “Don’t I look more like a petrel than any bird you’ve ever seen?”
Bog proved there were no limits to how narrow minded he could be by saying, “I look like a petrel. Tapao looks like a petrel.” And pointing to all the others, he continued, “They look like petrels. But I don’t know what you are, with that pale plumage, that split tail, not to mention that man-flock ring around your leg. Tapao, he is a disease, and he will infect our flock.”
“I haven’t really seen you add to it,” the leader sniped.
“I’d be happy to… if you’d give me your niece’s wing.”
Ah, Lupé thought, so Tapao has a niece. Where has he been hiding her?
“Bog, we both know that’s her decision, and we both know how she would respond. There are other females.”
Whether Bog actually loved Tapao’s niece or not, nobody knew. But it was obvious that he did not want to see another male marry the leader’s only living relative.
Now Lupé was getting even more interested. It seemed to him that there was more going on between Tapao and Bog than a debate about an outsider.
Although it was about as practical as trying to hatch a rock, Lupé decided to try reasoning with the hostile Darum one more time. “Bog,” he said, “why is different automatically bad? I am not an accident. Pettr has breathed life into both of us.”
“Pettr doesn’t know who or what you are.”
Lupé wanted to ask Bog how he could say what Pettr knew, but after seeing how useless his appeal was, the petrel merely said, “Don’t be so sure Pettr wouldn’t recognize me.”
Bog grew tired of all the talk. With finality and venom, he said, “I do not like him, and I do not want him here.”
“And that has been my point all along,” Tapao interrupted. “You simply do not like Lupé. Well, I do.”
“He is not part of my flock.”
“If you ever lead a flock, that might mean something, but for now, you’ll do as I say.”
Bog had turned to leave before Tapao finished the sentence, so the leader was talking to the back of his head. Bog tossed a blast of hot oil at Lupé’s feet and directed a comment just loud enough for the others to hear at Tapao, “For now, old bird… for now.”
Those who had gathered on the surrounding rocks and shrubs followed Bog as he left. Some laughed, others flew off silently. After they had gone, Tapao said, “All the hate in the world is inside each of us, and so is all the love… Each bird must choose what to give others. It seems Bog has made his choice.”
Lupé wondered if Tapao was issuing some type of threat or if his words did not reach that far.
“Looks like the meeting wasn’t such a good idea after all,” Lupé observed.
“Nonsense. We have an understanding. Each of us knows how the other feels. It may not be much, but it is something. And like all storms, this will blow over.”
“Do you still think I should work with the youngsters?” Lupé asked.
“Of course. Sirka could use the help, and the young ones like you. What Bog thinks is not important. Besides, he had an opportunity to teach the young
and chose to waste his time doing other things. And as far as Bog’s issues with finding a mate, if he wants a future with my niece, the final decision rests with her. She is the one who must approve.”
Ah, Lupé thought. Perhaps Tapao shares command of the flock with his niece. There might be another who holds power here. Maybe Tapao remains as leader only because he and his niece together are stronger than Bog alone.
Lupé smiled and declared, “Then it’s time you introduced me to your niece!”
The petrel was shocked to hear Tapao say, “You know where Sirka is, but I can save you…” The rest of the words slid off Lupé like water rolling down his oily feathers. Tapao finished his statement, nodded, and flew off, leaving Lupé on the barren boulder to gather his thoughts.
“So, Sirka is Tapao’s niece,” he said to himself. “I’m always the last to pluck stuff like that.”
WWhen Lupé returned to his nest, he found Stithl crunching a rather large green leaf in his mouth.
“Stithl,” Lupé inquired, “do you know anything about a female Darum named Sirka?”
The lizard swallowed the leaf. “Oh, ya know `er name. I wundert how long id’t dagke.”
“You mean you knew who she was and you didn’t tell me?”
“I know everyone on dis islant, bud ya neva agsk’t… An, if memry serves me, when ya med her down ad da shore, didn’d ya say dad ya weren’d inderesdet, dad ya only wandet da help’er metidate?”
“Please, Stithl, let’s not start that again. The situation has changed.”
“I’ll bed id has,” Stithl said with a reptilian grin.
“Well, now I’m asking. What else do you know about her?”
“Whudda you know?”
“I know that she’s Tapao’s niece. She works with the young. And I guess she has some history with Bog.”
“Ya know all dad?”
“Yes, I do.”
The iguana nodded as though he were very impressed with Lupé’s knowledge. “Den ya don’d know nuddin’.” It was tough to see whether Stithl enjoyed frustrating Lupé or not, but it was easy to see that he was good at it.
Just to make Lupé squirm a little more, Stithl took his time responding. When the petrel’s patience seemed thoroughly exhausted, Stithl told him what he knew. The lizard said it was true that Sirka was the premier fisher-bird of the Darums, and hence one of the flock’s best fliers, possibly its best. He claimed she was incredibly independent, saying, “Sirgka does whud Sirgka wands.” Because of that, many in the flock disapproved of her.
Stithl felt that Bog saw her as a way to increase his status among the Darums, so he perpetuated the idea that there was something between them. The other males were either too jealous of her skill or too afraid of Bog to approach her. And not even Sirka liked the idea of fighting Bog. Also, many of the females did not like the way Sirka ignored certain ideas regarding how a proper petrel should behave. But Stithl was quick to point out that there were those devoted to Sirka, mostly the young and some of their parents.
No matter how any of the Darum petrels felt, there was no denying that Sirka was their leader’s niece. The iguana stressed that even at his advanced age, Tapao was still the best friend, and consequently the worst enemy, any bird in the flock could have. Lupé was happy to hear that, since he considered himself Tapao’s friend.
Stithl summed up his profile by saying, “Lizartly, I dingk she’s a lovely creadcha.”
“How do you feel about Bog?” Lupé asked.
“He’s nod so lovely a creadcha. Bog’s a droublet birt who don’d know his beagk from his budd aboud anydin’. From da negk up, he’s nuddin’ bud empdy feddas. All’e eva does is walgk up’n down da shoreline fillin’ his belly wid jellyfish, grabs, an glams.”
“But that’s what you do, Stithl.”
“I’m suppose’da do dad! I’m a lizart, ya scallob! Don’d inderrubd me. An Bog’s frients `r as gruel an gonfus’t as he is, `cepd dey’re stupit’r, gause dey do whudeva he says.”
“Why do you think Bog doesn’t fish?”
“I guess id dagkes doo mugch effit. Or maybe he’s afrait he don’d do id as well as Sirgka. Ya know, she hades `im, bud don’d dell `er I dolt ya.”
“You really know her that well?”
“Woot I be able da dell ya all dis juicy sduff if I didn’d?”
Lupé didn’t know whether Stithl was telling the truth or not. It was so difficult to tell with an iguana, especially this one.
The two chatted on as the sun faded from the sky. When it became dark, Lupé escorted the lizard back to his rock. It wasn’t very far away.
He froze when he saw it. His heart stopped, and his stomach emptied. Stithl not only didn’t see it, he stood in it! Lupé shoved him aside. In front of them was a large footprint. The man-flock was on the island.
Stithl hissed, “Lubé, whudd’a ya doin’? Why’t ya shove me?”
“Quiet,” his friend replied. “Don’t you see the footprint? The man-flock is here.”
“A’gourse he is,” Stithl said. He walked back to the footprint and sat down in it. Lupé was repulsed and confused, but even more so when he heard Stith’s next comment.
“An if da one who mate dis was stantin’ in id, I’t walgk righd up da `im an give `im a nice big hug.”
Lupé could not believe what he heard. The lizard had seemed so sane… well, almost sane. All the petrel could say was, “Stithl?” as if suddenly there was a different iguana standing in front of him.
“Dey may nod’ve ton righd by you, Lupé, bud if da resd’a ligke da dwo dad I know… I love man.”
This was beyond the petrel’s comprehension.
“Dere’r dwo of `em,” Stithl said. “A male an a female, I guess. Dey live bassd da brushwood, bagck in da bines. Dey wuh oud here dotay while ya wuh gone wid Dabao.”
Oud here dotay… The words spun like a tsunami in Lupé’s mind. He thought for a moment and then told Stithl, “If the man-flock is here, I must go. These cannot be the Islands of Life.”
“Ya don’d have da go anywhere. Dese dwo won’d hurd ya, I’m delling ya.”
“But they are the man-flock.” It was Lupé’s only response, as though it was all he had to say.
“Drusd me,” Stithl continued. “I’ve wadch’t `em my whole life, an I’ve neva seen `em harm any lizart or birt. Now, if ya were a rad, I’t dell ya da worry.”
“They don’t like rats?”
“Dey hade rads. As’a madda a fagcd, dey kill `em.”
Lupé liked what he heard but couldn’t accept it. He believed Stithl had to be mistaken.
The iguana sensed his companion’s doubts and said, “Gum on, I’ll show ya.”
As he followed Stithl into the bush, the petrel remembered the first thing Kurah had ever told him about the man-flock. His father had said, “You stay away from the hungry hawk because you know what to expect from him. With the man-flock, there’s no telling. They can be kind, and they can be brutal. We must protect ourselves, so you must assume the worst… avoid them.” It was advice Lupé lived by.
“Pssst… Pssst… Pssst…” Finally, Stithl caught the bird’s attention. The lizard found what he was looking for. They were standing in the midst of the thorny bracken that separated Lupé’s nest from the colony. Under a bush lay what looked like a large pair of open jaws, but they were not contained inside any type of head. They were just there on the soil, open and poised to close.
Lupé had never seen anything like it before. It looked dangerous, so he did not advance. Stithl, however, had seen plenty of these. He called them “black jaws.” The iguana explained that the man-flock baited and opened the jaws and that their bite was fatal.
“Dey’r jaws widoud eyes,” he warned. But the bait the man-flock used didn’t appeal to any of Galahope’s residents other than rodents. So if Lupé was careful not to stumble into them, the jaws could actually serve him. Those who left the footprints collected the dead rodents every day. Stithl assumed they liked the taste of rat,
but whatever the reason, he and the other creatures were grateful to have the rodents controlled.
Listening to Stithl, Lupé was reminded of Gilgongo’s story. Twice now, he had heard of the man-flock protecting other creatures. To the petrel, however, it did not make sense. It was not the man-flock he knew.
Since the lizard had pointed one out, Lupé noticed several more pairs of the black jaws as he returned to his nest. One set was barely a flap from his home. It made Lupé nervous, but he knew where they were, and hoped that they might protect him someday, so Lupé didn’t try to move them. The thing that upset the petrel the most was the idea that the man-flock would pass so close to his nest when they checked the jaws. Stithl might feel they could be trusted, but he was never taken by them. Lupé also worried that the baited jaws might actually attract rats to this part of the island.
After a restless sleep, the petrel woke to a strange sight. From where he nested under the sheltering shrub, he could see that the jaws had claimed a victim during the night. A rat was tangled between the tight teeth. The rodent did not move. It looked as though he was sleeping, and Lupé would have thought so except for one thing. The creature’s neck had been replaced by the cold, closed jaws. The tiny piece of meat that had attracted the rat still hung from the scavenger’s jaws, just as it hung from the larger jaws.
The petrel rose to investigate but stopped when he heard a noise that made his feathers tense. Gradually, the sound grew louder. It was the slow, rhythmic gait of the man-flock. Lupé knew what was happening, and he didn’t like it. His first instinct was to fly, but it was too late. The rare petrel did not want to be seen. He backed deeper into his nest, afraid to even breathe.
Two large feet, each one big enough to crush Lupé, stepped up to the jaws. A hand reached down. The blood and bone were wiped away, and the jaws were spread open. A fresh piece of meat was put into place, inviting another visit from a reckless rodent.
The hands reached down again. This time, they picked up the carcass of the dead rat. The head hung from the body, attached by a shredded sliver of skin. Then the feet pivoted and stepped toward Lupé. “Have I been seen?” the petrel wondered as he backed still deeper into the bush.
