by John Morano
Crash, crush, snap. The feet came closer and closer until they were next to the nest. Something fell, but the feet kept moving. Soon they were gone.
The petrel emerged slowly. He was in no rush to greet danger. When he finally felt confident, he searched for what had fallen. It was easy to locate. The rodent’s head had snapped free from its body and rested in some dry weeds a few steps from Lupé’s nest.
Lupé examined the head. It did not bother him, especially considering it was a head that might have attacked him during the night. The lifelessness and the death, however, reminded him of Barau. Thoughts of his younger brother were interrupted when a petrel from the colony landed nearby. It looked like one Lupé had seen with Bog, the one called Wohat. The visitor seemed to be alone, and Lupé wondered what Bog’s right-wing bird might want with him. He stepped into the open to find out.
Wohat warned Lupé that if he stayed near the Darums any longer, there would be trouble. He said that Bog did not fear Tapao and Bog could force Lupé to leave if he decided to.
Once again, Lupé explained that he meant no trouble, but he would not be forced out. He told Wohat that he did not fear Bog or any other.
Lupé meant what he said. If Pettr wanted him on this island, he would fight for the right to stay.
Wohat froze. He lifted a wing and motioned Lupé not to move, not to speak. Something terrified the Darum. He lowered his beak and peered into the brush. Lupé couldn’t see what was there, but he had a good idea what it might be. He stepped closer to the visitor and saw the rodent’s head poking through the grass with a lifeless grin.
Lupé found it interesting that Wohat had chosen to warn him. The Darum could just as easily have flown away without saying anything. There might be hope, Lupé thought. Then he said, “He’s dead.”
Wohat inhaled. He smelled the death, looked back to Lupé, and approached the head. He pecked at it and stepped away. He pecked again, then dragged the head into the sunlight.
“I told you he was dead,” Lupé said.
For some reason, Wohat looked very frightened. He asked, “Did you do this?”
The Darum did not consider the black jaws. Clearly, Bog’s right-wing bird was as dim as the rest of his followers. Lupé seized the opportunity to have some fun and to perhaps plant a little fear into Bog’s circle.
Wohat timidly repeated, “Did you do this?”
Lupé nodded and said, “Yes, the rodent left me no choice.”
“But how?” The puzzled, fearful words slipped from Wohat’s beak.
“My flock does not like to kill… but we are very capable.” Lupé paused while the sight of the rodent’s severed head worked itself deep into Wohat’s memory.
The messenger asked, “Where is the body?”
Lupé hoped he would ask that. He grinned and said, “I eat rats.” Then he forced himself to belch, grinned again, and asked, “Would you care to share the rest of the head with me? Don’t worry, there’s plenty for both of us. You can even take some back to your burrow.”
Wohat didn’t speak. He just stood there with his beak hanging open.
Finally, Lupé asked, “Is there anything else you wish to caution me about on Bog’s behalf?” By the time the rat-eater completed the question, Bog’s messenger was in the air, heading toward the colony. Stithl strode out from behind a rock, smiled, and said, “Lube’, I godda atmid, I ligke ya style.”
Time passed, and the petrel continued to pray for the special female who never arrived. Little changed. Bog maintained his hostility but did nothing to act on it, probably because Lupé and Tapao had grown very fond of each other, and possibly because the rumor of Lupé’s strange taste for rodent was still fresh in Bog’s mind.
Usually one to turn the other beak, Lupé believed in giving unpleasantness every opportunity to pass. Battling Bog did not appeal to him. It was not the type of fight he believed in. It really had nothing to do with survival and thus was senseless. So he ignored the threats and taunts that came from Bog and his followers. Lupé continued as he had since his arrival—he avoided confrontations. It was a decision that seemed to please Tapao.
Out at sea, Lupé and Sirka kept working with the young, who were getting bigger every day, as was the group. Ideas and methods were catching on. More and more young petrels flew out to learn what they could. Now, instead of a dozen students, Sirka and Lupé had more than twenty. At times, it was birdensome, but they did the best they could. Sirka and Lupé would not refuse any bird who wanted to learn.
Some in the colony talked about splitting the group into early and late sessions, but the instructors decided against it. They liked the chemistry that had developed between them. Tapao, who often took part in the sessions at sea, agreed with their decision. However, the fishing lessons did change in one respect.
Lupé and Sirka were the kind of petrels who got along with all types of birds. When they saw how well the skimmers’ technique worked, they began inviting guest speakers. Pelicans, gulls, boobies, flightless cormorants, gannets, terns, penguins, and whoever happened by the islands—all explained and demonstrated how they fed. Even Stithl gave a lesson on shoreline scavenging. The youngsters learned a great deal. They became very skilled… and Bog became very angry.
By now, Lupé was well acquainted with the brother and sister who had flown into him that first day at sea. Their names were Yip and Kelp. They were, without question, the best fliers in the class, so Lupé often used them as assistants.
Most of the group’s newer members already had an understanding of the basics. Even though many still tripped over swells when walking on water and some would allow fish to squirm from their beaks before swallowing, Sirka and Lupé tended to stress group skills over individual accomplishments.
Flock-work, they believed, was more a philosophy than a skill. It called for birds to work together to feed each other. They had to anticipate problems and needed to be concerned at all times for those who flew with them. If they cooperated, assumed roles, were patient, and sacrificed, all would eat, and they would eat better than if they fed alone.
In order to illustrate the notion, Sirka, Lupé, Yip, and Kelp searched for schools of fish. When one of them located a school, the other three would descend on it. Each would take a turn tracking the fish from above so that the others would not lose the moving meal.
The four petrels were very successful. The youngsters enjoyed the display. They bobbed up and down as they sat on the water watching. Lupé could see that the young birds were itching to join the feast.
Occasionally, Yip became so involved with his own feeding, he forgot to help the others. Whenever this happened, the petrels would have to stop and search for the school again, but Yip’s selfishness did accomplish something. It showed the youngsters how quickly and how completely things fall apart when one forgets his flock-mates.
Whenever Yip floated off to feed himself, Sirka and Lupé refrained from scolding him. Instead, one of the instructors or Kelp would fly by and clean Yip’s beak before he could enjoy a meal gathered at the expense of his companions.
After a thorough beak cleaning, Sirka quietly reminded her student, “You have left the nest and are part of a flock. That means others are tied to you. Take care of them as you would yourself. They will do the same for you. You will make each other stronger.”
When the rest of the group tried flock-work, there was no shortage of problems. Some of the spotters flew so low, they couldn’t see the entire school and would lose the little fish. Then they would overreact and fly so high, their companions couldn’t hear the directions the spotter squawked, and the flock would lose the school again. But when the youngsters finally caught on and remembered to relieve the spotter, the petrels had an enormous feast. The group flew back to Galahope bloated, proud, and a little lower in the sky than usual.
During the time that Lupé spent with the Darums, he and Tapao became more than friends. In a sense, Tapao had become a surrogate uncle for Lupé, offering advice, company, and ho
pe. The Darum leader was an old bird with a young attitude, who faced problems with the knowledge of experience and the enthusiasm of youth. Tapao’s mind had not faded with age. If anything, it had become sharper, clearer, and closer to the truth.
The colony’s leader returned Lupé’s affection. He was happy the Gwatta was among them. Tapao understood that Lupé had already seen more in his life than most birds ever would. The leader loved hearing stories about Lupé’s encounters with the man-flock and other creatures. Tapao was also impressed with Lupé’s devotion to Pettr. He was convinced that Lupé would one day become a savn, something no Darum had ever achieved. This is a bird, he thought, that Pettr has touched. And so, Tapao finally decided to tell Lupé what he knew of Pakeet.
“I knew your grandmother,” he said once again.
Although it was something he had been waiting to hear, the comment caught Lupé by surprise. He listened intently and said nothing that might interrupt or silence Tapao.
“It was long ago, when our flock was larger and I was younger. We lived on the Islands of Black Sand to the northwest. She looked like you—paler than us, with a split tail.
“Pakeet was a tough bird to figure out. On the one wing, she loved to have fun. She could have a good time doing almost anything, simple things, stuff that would bore most of us. But on the other wing, your grandmother was the prayingest bird I ever saw. She could become very serious without any warning. She was already a savn when I met her, the youngest I’d ever seen.
“Her spirituality is what I remember most about her. She really seemed to be in touch with Pettr. Sometimes, I felt I could actually see him in her. He lived inside her soul. And so, no matter what she did, Pettr was there. It was strange and wonderful. Even now, when I think of her, I don’t just see her, I feel her. She didn’t just meet you, she gave some of herself to you. A little piece of Pakeet, even now, lives on in me…”
“And in me too,” Lupé agreed.
“We seemed to fly into each other a great deal, on the open sea, on the Islands of Black Sand, and also where your flock nested on Gwatta.”
The sound of his birthplace, hearing the actual word spoken by another, flushed and warmed Lupé. It had been a long time since someone else had casually said, “Gwatta.” It felt good. Hearing the word reminded Lupé that his home was real, that his flock was real. But it also made him sad to think that Gwatta and its lives were in the past. The island flock he knew was gone.
Tapao continued talking. He had no idea Lupé’s mind had flown from the conversation. “…and when we were forced from the Black Sand to Galahope, I never saw her again.”
“She was wonderful, wasn’t she,” Lupé declared more than asked.
Tapao acknowledged his younger friend and nodded his head in agreement. He was not merely appeasing Lupé. The Darum knew Pakeet, and he missed her too.
Then Lupé felt a strange sensation. Something inside told him there was more to Tapao’s story. After all, why would Tapao wait to tell him this? He was keeping something from Lupé.
“You really never saw my grandmother after you left the Black Sand?”
Tapao did not answer. He seemed to be working something out in his mind. Maybe he was listening to the same inner voice that guided Lupé. Finally, he replied, “I did not see her in the sense you mean.”
“Then how did you see her?”
Again, Tapao hesitated. He wanted to choose his words carefully. “I did see her once more. Pakeet came to me when we first arrived here. She came to me at night, in a dream, but she was very real. We spoke and played, just as we did when we were younger. And before she left—before I woke—she told me that I would meet her grandson one day. He would come to Galahope, and he would need my help. That was the last time I saw Pakeet. And now you are here, just as she prophesied you would be.”
“And you are giving me your help, just as she asked.”
“We are helping each other.”
Lupé wondered how his grandmother could possibly have known what would happen. And if she did, she must also have known about his capture. Why hadn’t she warned him in his youth? He asked Tapao, “Did she tell you anything else?” Lupé hoped some clue, some answer was left with his friend.
But the leader said that he had shared everything, and this time the grandson believed him.
Then, as if he had read the petrel’s mind, Tapao said, “She spoke nothing of a female, nothing about whether a female Gwatta might come to you or where you might search.”
Lupé knew he would be spending a lot of time praying and meditating over this conversation. He believed it signaled that something important was going to happen. Lupé reasoned that at the very least, it must mean he was on the right track, since Pakeet’s prophesy had been realized.
Stithl wandered out of the green and joined the two birds. That was when the conversation drifted away from Pakeet. Tapoa asked Lupé if there was any truth to the rumor that he ate rats. When the petrel and the iguana finally stopped laughing, Stithl explained what had happened. Tapao also liked Lupé’s style. Soon, they were discussing the man-flock and the two who lived on the island. Tapao was very quiet, so Lupé tossed a question his way.
“How do you feel about the man-flock? You’ve never really said anything about them to me.”
“I’m happy that they don’t bother us here,” the Darum said curtly.
But Lupé was not satisfied. “Do you like them as much as Stithl does?”
“I’ve seen things Stithl has not, and so my opinion comes from another place.”
“And what is your opinion?” Lupé pressed.
“I am confused… undecided. This egg is not yet hatched. The man-flock is capable of unthinkable extremes, good ones and bad ones. They have so much power. But I think the man-flock’s intelligence has not grown at the same rate as their ability. This is only one bird’s opinion, but they seem to do things because they are able, not because it is wise or necessary. They are creatures of enormous achievements yet too often have the understanding of seaweed. They are not balanced. Their wings do not work together.”
Since Tapao was in such a talkative mood, Stithl asked the petrel what he thought of the butterfly that had helped Lupé escape.
“I am certainly no bird of pray, but it has been explained to me like this. The butterfly is born totally Earth-bound—”
“Like a chick?” Lupé asked.
“Yes, but more so. Eventually, it climbs a tree and hangs from a branch wrapped in itself. The butterfly is defenseless. The creature dies suspended from the branch, rises to the other side, and is born again. It goes back to the same chrysalis that claimed its former life and returns with Pettr’s greatest gift, wings. Once it emerges and makes its first flight, the butterfly is able to pass between heaven and Earth at will. It is welcome on either side.
“If it wanted to, the butterfly could live exclusively on the other side. But almost all choose to return to this world, to serve Pettr and his creatures as a link between heaven and Earth. Butterflies do not speak, not only because they lack a mouth, but because they believe nothing says more than actions. They speak through their deeds. The butterfly that came to you, Lupé, was help from the other side, help from Pettr.”
It had been quite a night for Lupé. He heard stories about Pakeet and his home and had gained a new perspective on the butterfly that had helped save him from the man-flock.
After Tapao left, Stithl and Lupé went for a walk along the shore. Neither said much. They just enjoyed the evening. It was all they needed to be happy.
Before the petrel reached his nest, he could tell that something had visited while he was gone. It was night, one of those clear quiet evenings lit by a moon not quite full. Lupé scanned the sky. He checked that no clouds could drift by and hide an intruder at the wrong time. He approached cautiously, just in case the visitor was still in the area and turned out to be hostile. Why would anything be interested in his nest? Lupé wondered. There were certainly no eggs to steal.
Then the intruder stepped out from under the bush that sheltered Lupé’s home. The moonlight poured across the figure, and it hopped back into the darkness. Lupé could tell it was a bird that waited for him, a petrel from the colony. A friend would not have to hide, he thought. Only an enemy would seek the shadows.
Lupé stood boldly in the bright night. He was prepared to battle for his nesting site. He puffed his feathers, spread his wings, and hissed as he lowered his back to strike. The display was intended to provide a very clear reply to the challenge issued by the petrel who invaded Lupé’s nest.
The Gwatta continued his display, hissing and snapping, until finally the trespasser emerged and said, “Lupé, what are you doing?” It was Sirka.
She seemed nervous. She explained that the only reason she had stopped by was to discuss tomorrow’s lesson. Lupé didn’t believe her. She knew better than to perch on another’s nest, even a friend’s. And she had never visited to discuss the group before. Actually, she had never seen Lupé outside of teaching the young. Something was wrong. He could tell that there was more to this visit than Sirka had admitted, and he waited for her to get to the truth while she continued her bogus explanation.
Sirka suggested that they stay on the island tomorrow. She wanted to show the youngsters how to find food without using the sea, just in case the Black Death ever touched their waters or the weather prevented them from fishing.
Lupé thought it was a good idea—a lie, but still a good idea. He smiled and said that he would explain to the young males that it was when weather forced petrels to stay in their nests or burrows that the flock’s numbers would grow. The two birds shared an innocent giggle over the observation, as they anticipated some of the questions Lupé’s comment might elicit.
When they finally stopped sputtering, an awkward silence filled the night. Lupé got the feeling that Sirka would either say goodbye or offer the truth behind her visit. Sirka chose the truth.
