The Canary: A Modern Folktale

by Benjamin Parsons

important to say, and had been going to seek her out on her own. She was surprised and intrigued that he meant to visit her while her sister was out, and of course consented, so they sat down on one of the low rubbly walls of the old church.

  ‘I just want to tell you how I feel,’ he began. ‘We’ve known each other a while, Damiah, and all that time I’ve wanted to know you better— I’ve wanted to become closer— and now, more than ever.’

  She could not interrupt him with a reply to that.

  He sighed. ‘But I know you don’t like me. I know I make you uncomfortable— and I’m sorry to do the same now— but I think it’s important. I’ve done my best— at least, I’ve tried to make you like me— but I haven’t really succeeded. I just hope it’s not too late for you to change your mind.’

  ‘Is this what you think?’ she stuttered, in great agitation. ‘You’re mistaken— you’re mistaken.’

  ‘Am I?’ he looked at her hopefully. ‘I’m afraid you think I’m just not good enough.’

  ‘No— not at all— I’ve never thought that! If I’ve seemed— if— if Issy knew—’

  His enthusiasm rose with this encouragement, and he interrupted her. ‘So you don’t hate me? You don’t? I can’t tell you how glad I am.’

  ‘Hate you—?’

  ‘It really means a lot to me, Damiah.’ He paused, distracted by a stray thought, and then resumed: ‘You and Issy are so close, I had to know how you feel before things go any further.’

  He stood up hurriedly. ‘I have to speak to her first— you understand?’

  She hardly knew how to answer, and in any case did not have time to— he took her hand, squeezed it, and dashed away.

  Her feelings after this were as confused and tumultuous as they could be— or so she thought; as it happened, they became much more so later on, when her sister came flying to her side, breathless and red faced, to tell the exciting news that she was going to get married.

  Moreover, the wedding was to take place very soon, because the bridegroom’s permit to work in the country was due to expire, and he meant to take his new bride back home to live with him in Tasmania, or Tanzania, or wherever it was he hailed from, I forget. Damiah could hardly tell what to be upset about most— losing a beloved sister or gaining a brother-in-law who she was in love with. In spite of this, though, she took pains to express her delighted congratulations, and considered it the very height of selfishness to greet the announcement as anything but the very best of news.

  Her dashed expectations, raised by self-flattery, and the sorry, sorry loss to distant climes of her dear sister and companion were dreadfully painful to bear; but since these upsets resulted from the culminating happiness of those she loved best, she knew her part was to forsake her own, and join in theirs. She helped the couple towards the wedding day in every way she could, and soon enough it was next week, this week, and tomorrow.

  The eve of the special day was a warm, bright Friday in early summer, and the sky remained light late into the evening. Damiah sat alone in her room by the open window. The sweet fragrances from the neighbouring gardens freshened the sultry air, and the canary stood up keenly, singing for all its worth long, complicated stanzas to the clouds outside. For her part, Damiah could not help but cry, and wonder what the future might hold for her. Between her bouts of tears the birdsong broke her heart: she seemed to hear longing, desperate hope and hopeless melancholy in those sharp notes. Her grief overcame her.

  ‘At least you can be happy,’ she cried, starting up and stooping to the cage. ‘At least you needn’t pine your life away. There— go! I release you! I wish you could release me.’

  With that she unlatched the door of the canary’s cage and pulled it open. Without a second of hesitation the elated bird flew straight out of the window, shining for a moment like a golden star against the blue vault, and vanished.

  And a week after that, the new bride and her bridegroom took flight across the world to start their new life together.

  Damiah remained in Hornsey, and nothing happened to her. She did not die of her broken heart; nor did she recover from it. At first she thought she would be glad that they had emigrated, because she would be spared the ordeal of always seeing them together, married; but as it turned out she missed them both terribly, and thought about them all the time. She made great efforts to restore herself to herself again, and worked hard, made new friends, kept herself busy; but when it came to love, she could never pursue it for long. No new man supplanted her affection for her brother-in-law, and she could not bear to hurt an admirer by letting him get too attached to her. Her heart was now more strongly defended from love than it had ever been before, and love itself defended it.

  She resolved to limit indulging her passion as much as she was able, and eventually confined it to a single day each year— the anniversary of the day they met. On that day alone she would wake up early, while the icy mist still hung in the air and the streets were almost deserted, and go to visit the graveyard of the ruined church, casting aside her coping strength, her bolstering maxims, her survival equipment, to surrender to the precious lost and sweet grief in lovelorn reverie.

  On the last occasion of this lone appointment, after seven years of keeping it, she heard someone else’s footsteps on the frosty grass besides her own, and moved away to a more obscure corner in order to avoid any sense of company. Soon she heard the footsteps pursuing her, however, and looked up in surprise— which mounted to astonishment on seeing the very subject of her musings stood before her. He wore his hair a little longer than he used to do, and his face was clear and tanned; like a boiling tide the full force of her dormant love rose and engulfed her.

  She did not speak, and so, with a cautious, half smile he said: ‘It is me— I’m not a ghost. I hoped I’d find you here, Damiah— right here. You see, I’ve a friend who still lives in Hornsey, and he told me that you come here every Valentine’s day— but I didn’t believe it— I didn’t want to take his word for it, I mean— so I came to find out for myself. And here you are.’

  ‘You came all this way,’ she asked faintly, ‘for that?’

  ‘It’s been on my mind for a long time. We met on a Valentine’s day, didn’t we?’

  ‘I’m surprised you remember.’

  ‘So am I— usually I’m no good at remembering dates. But on this date you come here.’ He laid his hand on the gravestone just beside them, the one on which the weathered depiction of a rising bird was picked out in lines of gleaming frost. ‘This is where I buried your canary.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’ She studied the ancient gravestone in confusion. ‘I let my canary go free, the night before you were married.’

  He nodded. ‘I know you did. Damiah, sometimes I forget what was the dream and what was real, but standing here with you now, I’m starting to think there was no dream at all. The night before my wedding I went to sleep with the window open, because it was so warm and close, and I thought I heard your canary singing to me from the tree outside, singing and singing into the night. I woke up to find that it really was there, sitting on my windowsill, shining yellow in the moonlight.’

  ‘My canary?’

  ‘Oh yes, without a doubt yours, Damiah— I knew from what it sang to me— or what I dreamt it sang. It had a long, sad tale to tell— your sad tale— all your love, and all your sorrow, and all my blindness.’

  ‘Please— please. Enough of this.’

  She turned away, and he held out his hand to keep her.

  ‘Don’t go— there’s not much more to tell. I shut the window, turned one of my empty packing cases on its side to make a home for your canary, and went to bed, meaning to bring it back to you the next day. But in the morning I found it lying cold, and spotted with drops of blood. It looked as if it had pecked itself to death. I found a smaller box for it, and carried it here, long before anyone was up and about. I found this grave with the picture of a bird and buried your canary here.’

  They both looked at the ov
ergrown plot at their feet for some minutes, while riotous thoughts possessed them both.

  At length he said: ‘I’ve never forgotten it. More than that— I’ve thought about it again and again, long and hard. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what to believe. I thought my whole life was set in stone— I couldn’t smash it to pieces without being sure— and I had nothing to be sure about. Until I heard that you come here every year, to revisit those old memories— then, for the first time, I began to hope.’

  ‘Hope? Hope for what?’ She turned on him with sudden vehemence, tears starting into her eyes. ‘Even if everything you’ve told me is true, what good came of it? Even if you knew all my feelings then, even if you felt something of them yourself, it made no difference! That was the moment for hope, and it’s gone— passed us by forever. If these long years have taught me anything, it’s that. My poor little canary died in vain— it was my fault as well as yours— and when you buried it here you buried our little hope of love in the same grave.’

  She stared into his crestfallen face, her own expression inured to despair all the while, and the wretched grave of that brave canary lay between them, to unite and divide them.

  But in that stricken pause, the turf on the grave began to twitch, and with a sudden burst the bright, golden canary sprang free of the earth and