Oven Bird, Nightingale and Freedom

                                                                               Gilson Marcon de Souza

I´ve never heard a bird

Speak as much as a small word

But when they begin to sing

I think they speak of everything.

 (From The Biography of Fanny Grosby)

It was the height of spring, but no one dared to give any hint about how the day was going to be like.

 Sometimes the scorching heat whipped whoever dared to spend some time under the scalding sun, sometimes the fog and the cold drizzle could easily convince those who were not very accustomed to that typical weather changes of the season that it was still winter.

 This was not a hindrance for John Oven Bird to keep on his hard work. Neither the hot sun, nor the cold drizzle, nor the torrential rain, nor the thick fog, nor the strong wind were obstacles to dissuade him from his constant toil and his  dedicated task to finish his new house as soon as possible, which, by the way, could be considered his masterpiece.

Not that his previous buildings had been made without any steps or in a sloppy way, but the experience has helped him to work more skillfully, carefully and hard.

The chamber he had made inside his nest to prevent the blasts of the hostile winds was the greatest evidence of his architectural knowledge, intelligence and skill.

He was a dedicated, tireless, obdurate laborer, who was not intimidated by the difficulties or adversities. Smart and bright, he knew how to turn the difficulties into opportunities and carefully watched all the details ahead and always managed to get some practical solution to an unexpected problem.

 The intense heat was enough to gather in the sky, which was clear and light just a moment before, a thick layer of black clouds that soon began to pour a torrent of water like never before in that afternoon.

When that entire downpour finished, the strong winds gradually recessed until they were turned into a smooth, refreshing evening breeze.

John could not miss even a second: he then flicked his wings covered with reddish-brown feathers, puffed out his chest and curled his brownish eyebrows of smooth contours. His attentive gaze searched the surrounding terrain, and after a precise flight, he rose to the top, circled the perimeter of his new nest, made ​​ some stunts and air evolutions ​​to perfection and landed t next to a thick mud puddle and then tried to harvest with his beak an abundant acorn of clay he had smashed with his  feet.

Then he flew back to lay the ultimate portion of wet clay on the top of his nest. He sighed and watched everything, checking every detail, every aspect of his exquisite dwelling place with full attention. However, he decided he still needed to strengthen the structure of the external walls with some more straw, which he immediately did and without any loss of time.

Though he had finished the construction of one more house, John felt distressed. Whenever he finished a work like that, he felt satisfied, happy and ready for another one. But this time, he did not feel particularly accomplished when he finished that impressive architecture. On the contrary, he felt distressed. An enormous emptiness took possession of his melancholic chest... A sticky sadness, an atrocious despair, a sense of dismay, misery, desolation, abandonment...

He felt his chest  compressed and a lump in his throat. Two shy tears emerged from his sad eyes and soon swelled, until they became a warm, although restrained, cry.

John was not a shy bird; on the contrary, he was accessible to everyone and was never seen far from his nest. However, he had already decided to visit Professor Glaucy at any cost. Perhaps she could help him to clear his obscure thoughts.

He decided he would see her, even if he had to fly a long distance and move farther away from his nest.

 That is what he did: he pondered everything, thought about the danger of flying at dusk, about the possibility of another storm, since the dark sky heralded more rain again.

He needed to go; he needed a direction, a word of advice, some light, an expanded view and a fresh conscience.

Deep inside John was a little afraid of professor Glaucy. He did not know her personally, but the information he had about her was contradictory. Some considered her a very wise and fair person, some considered her someone who could see things in a broad and comprehensive perspective, some others, that she had the gift of clairvoyance and could reveal hidden secrets and knowledge. Still, others considered her a charlatan psychic and a real predator. But all of them were united by holding her an extremely sinister and mysterious person.

That did not matter. He had already decided. John made up his mind to go anyway, no matter what. He could not live with that anguish anymore and needed to clarify everything.

He already felt prepared. He looked at the vastness of the sky and thoroughly evaluated on how he should trace his flight path. Never had he flown to such a distant place. He figured out that soon it was going to get dark. Never had he flown at nightfall, so he decided to be as careful and meticulous as possible.

John has always been very methodical in everything he does. Evaluating, weighing, calculating, anticipating results has always been part of his routine. Before he started flying, he drew a mental route of how his risky flight should be. He thought it would be better to fly in stages, landing in specific places to rest and reassess the flight conditions and then go farther.

His mind map included a nearby post, then an old and full-bodied tree, the old weathered eucalyptus, the majestic kapok, the graceful tibouchina, and finally the top of the tallest mountain. Afterwards, he would go for flyby straight to the attic of an abandoned shack.

He knew that the last stage of his path would be the most difficult one because there would be no lights beyond the mountain. The opposite side of the hill was plunged into deep darkness, and at that point he knew he should totally rely on his mental map. He would fly almost at random, blindly, and could not deviate an inch from the mental line he had imagined.

So he did. Everything had gone exactly as he had planned: each stop, each predetermined point…    Although he had calculated all possible details and anticipated every strategic stop, he was  wrong about the twilight time. John had calculated this detail precisely, but he could not know beforehand that, due to the formation of a new storm, thick clouds would cover the weak sunlight earlier than expected, casting the slope on the other side of the mountain into thick darkness ahead of time.

At that point he had to hurry up. He was afraid at that moment, but he closed his eyes , took a deep breath and dived in a bold and courageous immersion. He broke through the thick darkness as fast as he could — a jump in a sea of thick darkness in which he was supposed to sale until he could reach his desired target.

He could feel the wind buzzing against his ears, and the raindrops seemed small debris thrown at his face. The only time he opened his eyes was when the flash and  the bang of a fiery thinderbolt frightened him. His body seemed to have lost stability, both because of the scare   of the lightning bang and the power of the contrary wind. Anyway, this incident saved him, because as he opened up his eyes, the lightning flashes were enough to light up the entire mountainside and the valley floor far below. It was not difficult to see the attic and thus correct his oblique route.

Finally, he managed to land just a few feet from the entrance of his destination.

John shook his wet wings and took a deep breath. His heart was still beating in an accelerated fashion. He bounced a little and did not want to waste any time; he just wanted to get into that attic which, though dark, was the only  haven from the heavy rain.

After breaking into with his beak, he took a few hesitant steps. The inner darkness seemed to be even denser than the black night outside. A heavy and suffocating air enveloped him. The lighting flashes, on occasion, allowed him to see, for fractions of seconds, that it was a dusty place with exposed mislaid bricks, and a thick layer of dust on the floor.

He did not know if his mind had played a trick on him, but he could swear he had seen an inverted cross hanging on a wall. He did not allow himself to be led by a quick judgment and decided to check it better when the glare of the next lightning cast some more light on that corner. Maybe his mind had tricked him somehow, but did not fail to be attentive waiting for the next flash. Perhaps it was part of the roof structure, whose oblong shadow had created the illusion of an inverted cross.

Fear had taken hold of his whole being. He was more afraid in that place than when he was flying. He crouched in a corner. 

“Where is Professor Glaucy?” he wondered.

Suddenly, John heard what seemed to be a scream behind him — a terrifying roar. It was like the cry of a woman being stabbed: a cry of horror, a scream of despair and intense pain. John was terrified and thought about leaving that place. He turned his face back to see where that grunt of distress was coming from. At that moment, he had the most terrifying vision he could ever remember in his whole life — he could see the most amazing scene in the opposite corner; the figure of a being bigger than himself, whose huge open wings pushed the flow of that thick and dusty air against his face.

John strived to look better and his heart almost stopped beating when he saw a middle-aged owl turning her head back without even moving an inch of her body. It seemed he was watching a classic scene of a horror movie.

“How can she possibly turn her head back completely without moving her body?” he wondered.

John pulled himself away and tripped over a loose piece of wood on the floor. A longer lightning gushed light on the face of a brown owl and John could see his own image projected on those huge yellowish eyes. John could see himself reflected in the eyes of Professor Glaucy and was startled all the more when he saw his own image moving deep inside her eyes.

“So you came”, said the owl in a lower pitch.                        “Please, pardon me, but I scared you. I knew you would come and was already waiting.”

Professor Glaucy tried to be more welcoming and invited John Oven Bird to move to a lighter place.

“Sorry, John, the intense light dims my vision a bit, but let us accommodate in a clearer place so that we can talk.”

Professor Glaucy was a stout owl with brown feathers, a sharp beak and huge sparkling eyes. She was able to suddenly change her appearance from a long and frowning face to the smoothest and gentlest countenance one can imagine. Sometimes, her expression was frightening to any mortal, but when she undid her stern frown she could unveil an affable and friendly visage, able to win the heart of the most distrustful child with the strongest demonstration of affection, friendship and empathy. She seemed to feel what people felt.

It was with that look of tenderness and compassion that she received John Oven Bird, which meant that, despite the initial shock, he soon calmed down and felt welcomed and safer.

“How do you know who I am and that I would come?” John asked, a little curious.

“Well,” said the owl, swaying from one side to the other, “first let's set formalities aside.”

Professor Glaucy teaches Analysis of Speeches in a Linguistics course; she was also graduated in philosophy and pedagogy, but she likes to analyze the speeches the way people speak in their everyday lives. She did not like to speak very much, rather she enjoyed observing people and listening to them all the time. She thought the best way to make people discover things still is like the old Socrates taught, that is:   let they give birth to their ideas and findings themselves. With this method, she made people bring to light things hidden deep inside their mind. So, people wondered she might be part of the occult. No such thing. She just helped people to see the world and themselves better, and she did so with little intervention and by means of a question or another, but she always liked to tell a story at the end of the conversation.

“Don't call me madam and don't bother to speak correctly, but I know you would come because your friend Luc said you might come to talk to me.”

John felt more comfortable to be excused to try to excel to speak correctly; however, he showed a visible look of sadness and disappointment when she mentioned his friend's name. John tried to hide himself and covered his face with one of his wings as he bowed his head a little to try to conceal his red eyes and a lonesome tear.

“True,” he replied with a distant look, “Luc always spoke good things about you, madam, I mean... about you...” He corrected himself, already feeling more at ease.

“So feel at home,” the owl insisted with a soft and tender voice. “Why don't you sit back?” she added, pointing to a more ventilated area and closer to a window, which allowed some moonlight to enter, since the storm had ended as suddenly as it had begun.

“But what brings you here?” she asked as she bent her head to the side and opened her huge eyes even more.

“You know, Glaucy,” he stammered, “I am here because of Luc; he left me very disappointed and sad. I could never imagine he was so ungrateful and cruel.”

“But he seems to be such a kind and sweet bird. Don't you want to tell me what happened?”

“Well, Glaucy, I'd have to tell you the whole story, and I don't know if you are willing to listen.”

“We have all night, John. Don't worry about the time, but you can sum up a bit if you want.”

“Er, I mean, well,” he corrected.

“You can talk as if you were in your home, John, don't worry and let the formalities for my college students.”

“Good,” he continued, “I met Luc in a nightclub. As soon as I met him,   I was very impressed with his voice. When I saw him sing, it was the most beautiful voice I've ever heard in my entire life. I was mesmerized by that voice and that way of singing. As I approached, I saw that it was a small   nightingale. Because of the distance, I could not tell apart if it was a male or female bird at first sight. He had a rather androgynous appearance. People were somewhat  confused with that. So I approached to hear him better. When he sang, everyone was enraptured. Luc could sing for more than two hours on end without repeating the same sequence. He was a bird with brown reddish feathers. He sang in a high but sweet tone. He could produce a huge variety of trills and chirps in a crescendo that led everybody to a real ecstasy. But sometimes, his songs seemed a sad moaning, especially when he sang a bluegrass song.

“I've had the opportunity to hear him sing,” Professor Glaucy remembered, “but I remember seeing him sing in the park. And you're right, he liked to sing for dating couples and was even happier when   he saw people happy than when someone gave him some contribution”, she added. “We talked a few times and I could tell he was a kind, sincere and delicate bird, although a little shy.”

“That's true, Glaucy.”   

“But continue your story,” she insisted, paying attention to every word and gesture of John.”

“We became good friends. Luc was very disappointed and depressed during that period.”

“And why is that?” Professor Glaucy asked even more interested.

“So, Glaucy, he was sad because he was feeling like a prisoner. He was very upset for two reasons.”

“What reasons, John?”

 “First, because before he enjoyed singing in the church”, he said.

“Did he sing in the church choir?”

 “No, Glaucy, in the parish tower. But one day he was very upset because he was hungry. Then he entered the temple and ate a piece of bread.”

“And what is wrong about that?” the Professor asked.

“Well, the church people felt outraged and shooed him from there. He felt shooed away. The church people said he should never eat the Lord's Holy Supper bread because he was unworthy. Only good Christians, with a clear conscience and without sin, in communion with the church, could eat the sacrament bread.”

Professor Glaucy sighed, but said nothing, and continued listening to him intently.

“It was then that Luc started singing in the park,” he said. 
“He was upset because he was hungry and no longer could eat the church bread. Then he stopped singing in the church not only because of this business of having eaten the bread, but because he wanted to sing along with the people and could not. He saw all that beautiful celebration, all those beautiful songs, all those people singing. He wanted to join that happiness, that joy, but he felt set aside. They said that was not food for birds,   and therefore he was not allowed to eat. So he did not feel included. Some people felt compassion for him and gave him a piece of bread on the sly and he reciprocated by singing a   bluegrass song he loved to sing:

'When the shadows of this life have gone,  
I'll fly away.
Like a bird from these prison walls I'll fly.
I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, oh glory!
I'll fly away in the morning.
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by, 
I'll fly away.' ”

As soon as John finished his explanation, both of them bowed their heads  very thoughtful and hold a not brief silence.

After a period of time in silence, Professor Glaucy resumed the conversation and asked:

“And what is the second reason, John?”

John released some air from his lungs, after taking a deep breath, and continued:

“After that Luc was probed by some talent scouts. During that period he sang in the park   in exchange for some tips. Somehow, they realized he was very talented and invited him to sing in that nightclub,” he said. “I met him during that time.”

“I understand, John,” the Professor intervened with an air of curiosity, “but it seems you helped him a lot in that time.”

“At least that was my intention, Glaucy; Luc has difficulty understanding certain things.”

“But why did he need help, John?”   

John thought for a moment, searching for the right words.

“You know, Glaucy in the beginning Luc was very excited, mainly because he liked to sing at night. But over time he became discouraged and depressed.”

 “Why, John?”

Because Luc is kind of naïve for business and ended up signing a contract that was not very favorable for him. You know, he had no patience to read those tiny letters. They promised him the moon, but when he realized he had to do all by himself — you know,  advertisements, promotion of shows, marketing, accounting — and since he didn't like to deal with these things, because he really wanted to sing, sing, sing... Anyway, little money was left. Then he was mixed up and failed to pay some taxes in order to save some money for food. Then he realized he was feeling stuck. We talked about that, and he was really disappointed because he was feeling like a slave. He even wanted to go back and sing in the park for tips again because he felt more accomplished and free there and because he earned more money there than he could get in the nightclub.

 “Now I got you, John, Luc and I didn't talk personally very often, but we love to tweet.”

“So Glaucy, Luc was in a difficult situation, he had no money to buy the most basic things and was mired in debt and taxes. We became good friends,” John continued, feeling more at ease, as he stopped worrying about grammar. “We talked a lot and I thought of a way to help him out. So I had some ideas and talked to him.”

   “What ideas?” Professor Glaucy asked, merely listening and intervening less and less, except for a question or another she thought relevant. 

   The moon had moved away a little out of the angle of that small opening, and the environment had become a bit darker again.  John could only see the silhouette of the attentive owl and the gleam of her mysterious eyes.

   “I talked to Luc and told him he had some houses. One of them was rather abandoned, and I was thinking about selling it, because I heard it has been occupied by bad guys.”

   “What kind of bad guys, John?”

   “Oh, everything you can imagine: snakes, rats, spiders, lizards... these guys  don't work and just want to live off the sweat of others,” he got off his chest. “So I told Luc I could sell that house and help him to pay his debts and cancel the contract that was trapping him. Luc was thoughtful, wondering how he would go on singing. So I told him to relax and suggested that he do  shows. He thought hard and enjoyed the idea. He said he was thinking about changing style but needed some support.”

   “What kind of support, John?”

   “Vocal support, he wanted someone to help him with a second voice or back voice. I said I didn't sing well, but I could try to help him. I asked what he was thinking about and he said he wanted to sing yodel or bluegrass. Luc was a little unease with the help and said he would only accept it as a loan and provided he could pay me back later on; he didn't want anything for free. So I told him he could pay me back as soon as we got some money. He thought the proposal was reasonable. Luc was very happy and he didn't not know how to thank me. Then we began to compare notes, make plans, and I suggested that we buy clothes and equipment. I also suggested that we sing the so called Brazilian College Country and Brazilian Pop Songs; I said yodel and Bluegrass were very regional styles and not well known. Luc argued that College Country was also regional, but I reminded him about the worldwide success of Michel Teló and Gusttavo Lima.

    Professor Glaucy kept on listening very carefully.

   “And how was the project of yours?” she asked, straightening up next to a stack of old books.

   “Well, he was very thoughtful, but he agreed to the idea. We began to rehearse and started soon. Of course I had to fix certain things on Luc and wanted to try to put him on the line.

   “Fix things?”

   “Yeah, Glaucy. I thought  Luc was  a rare gem that needed to be cut. Luc had certain vices that needed correction,” he said in an incisive and rather authoritarian tone.

   “Can you be clearer, John, what kind of things do you think he needed to change?”

   Well, starting with the posture. I told him he needed to be, say, more virile, if we were to sing college country songs. I told him that wearing makeup and mascara doesn't become him.

   Professor Glaucy could not help hiding a look of astonishment and was amazed.

“But, John, these resources are important for artists. Don't you agree?”

 “I know, Glaucy, but I asked him to go easy on that a bit. I asked him only to trim his eyebrows and not to outline them very much. I said cowboys should have manly attitudes. Luc was very delicate. Once I asked him to help me put some clay in the house, and he made a fuss because I asked him to bring a manure acorn.

“Then Luc moved in with you, right?”

“Yeah, Glaucy he could not pay rent, so I said he could stay at home for a while.”

“But your wife, are you not married?”

John was thoughtful this time, but continued:

“I am separate, Glaucy.”

 Professor Glaucy would not be invasive and was silent, but John felt comfortable to continue:

“I separated because I thought my wife was hitting on other birds. I had people calling me a tame cuckold. So I went to talk to her. She was very angry and so we had a quarrel. So, you know, in the heat of discussion I ended up pecking her. Then she wanted to separate and reported me. I fell under Maria da Pena Law and now I have to keep a certain distance from her.”

“Luc told me there was a rumor about a house...” Instigated the Professor.

“Oh, this rumor that I locked her in the house. This is pure gossip, Glaucy. This rabble has poison in the tongue. What happens is that the house was left abandoned. Then some homeless bees broke into the house and closed the entrance. I'm waiting for the repossession. That’s what happened.”

 “Now I understood; then, that is why Luc could move to your place.”

“Yeah, Glaucy, but that's where the shoes pinch because I thought Luc a little idle. You know, he was not engaged with business. He just wanted to be singing and tweeting with his fans. So I decided to be more firm.”

“And what did you do?”

“I decided to impose some rules,” he said resolutely.

“What kind of rules?”

“You know, Glaucy, basic rules, such as a time to rehearse, a time to sing, a time to tweet, and a time to clean the house and so on.”

“And how did he react, John?”

“At first he even tried, but soon he stopped cleaning the house, no longer remembered to pay the bills, and I was getting bored. I asked why  did he not  pay the bills. He said he didn’t know how to do math very well.”

“And did you teach him how to do math?” insisted the owl as she tried to understand the explanation better.

“Of course not, Glaucy, he should know,” he said a little impatient.”

“But tell me something , John, did you know how to sing? Do you also sing?”

“I didn’t sing very well, but in time I got the hang of it and could sing better with his support, like in a duet. I enjoyed duets. There was only one song that we reversed, that is, I sang and he did the back voice; it was a Milton Nascimento song.

“So you mean you didn't teach him do to math, but he taught you how to sing?”

 John felt pressed, but explained:

“These are different things, Glaucy.”

“Yes, I understand, but there may be things which are easy for you to do and difficult for him and vice versa.”

John was a bit thoughtful and did not pursue the matter.

“But tell me about the result of the project, John.”

“It was great, in just a few months we managed to restore the tax money and still could save some money, but Luc started to get sad and depressed... He almost didn't sing any more. If he ever sang, his songs were sad and depressive. I wondered what was going on, but he said nothing. So I wanted to have a serious talk with him.”

“And how was this conversation, John?” asked the Professor, encouraging John to talk more.

“I told him a few truths.”

 “What did you say?”

“I told Luc that if he didn't strive a little more, if he didn't work to keep things organized, he would end up by going back to that smelly nightclub again.”

“Got it,” said the owl, thinking a little. Then she simply said: “Fear.”

“What did you say, Glaucy?”

“We will talk about this subject in a while, John, but go on.”

“Well, Luc bowed his head  sad and stared out the window.”

“And then?”

“Then I told him he should be considerate, that if it were not for my help, he would still be all enmeshed.”

“Got it,” Glaucy said again, and added: “Obligation. But continue.”

“Finally, I was tired of seeing Luc hanging around sullenly and said I was doing my part, and if things didn't work out, he would be the only responsible.”

“Got it,” said the owl, turning her head back and rubbing her shoulder with her beak, and said: “Guilt.”

 John did not understand anything at all about why Professor Glaucy  said the words, fear, obligation and guilt, but continued.

“So, Glaucy, early in morning, I woke up and Luc was gone. I called him, but he didn't answer. Then I read a message on my Smartphone. Luc left me a message.

“Want to tell me about those messages?”

“Yes, I can show you, Glaucy.”

“Okay, I want to see, but before I want to know one thing,” she said somewhat puzzled,  “has Luc never helped you out in any way?”

“Of course, Glaucy, he stood by me and helped me when he learned that I was separate.”

“What else, John?”

“Well, he also taught me to sing better, gave me some vocalization tips, and corrected me in certain postures as well. He told me to stop flipping my wings while I sang. Luc used to joke and said that sometimes I seemed to be laughing out loud when I sang.”

“I see, John, but let us take a look at the messages; what did he write?”

“See how ungrateful he is, Glaucy, just take a look at what he wrote. There were three messages:

'Do not cry for what is gone forever;

Keep what you have;

Never trust the word of a prisoner.'”

“He's gone, Glaucy, and is never coming back.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Just read the messages, Glaucy,” John said, with his throat closed by grief and a choked voice, “he said he would never return. Or do you think he will ever come again, Glaucy?” he asked, trying to fish some of her thoughts, or waiting for Professor Glaucy to reveal anything about the future.

“Maybe yes, maybe not,” she replied, “how can I know? Although to my knowledge nightingales always return to where they left.

“Yeah, I think he will not return, Glaucy, he said that we should not believe the word of a prisoner.”

“Then reverse the thesis, John.”

“What do you mean, Glaucy?” he asked astonished.

“Now if you cannot trust the word of someone who is imprisoned, then you can trust the word of someone who is free, right?”

John was a little confused with the reversal of the premises.

“So,  do you think he'll come back?” he insisted.

“I'll tell a story for you, John,” said Professor Glaucy, flicking both her wings, as if rehearsing a flight or doing some exercise. Then she cleared her throat and continued:

“A very rich man went to a bird market. When he arrived he saw the most beautiful singing birds. He saw birds with the most glittering feathers. All were imprisoned in a very large cage. But there in the corner there was a sick bird, with not many feathers, with a broken beak, hurt and abandoned. Then the rich man wanted to buy him.

 John kept on listening intently.

“Then,” continued the owl, making some suspense, “everyone was wondering why he wanted to buy that injured, weak bird, a languid bird, sick and almost dying, but he bought the bird anyway. Afterwards, the bird wanted to know why he did that. He said: 

‘Because I love you and want your freedom’.
He spread his hands and told the bird: 

‘Go, you are free now, go your way’. 

 The poor bird did not understand and insisted:

‘But why are you setting me free, why are you doing this?’ 

‘I already told you,’ answered the rich man, ‘I love you and want you to be free. Go’, he said, releasing the bird. But the bird was so moved by the love of that man and said:

‘Never will I go, I want to stay close to the person who loves me and looks after me forever.’ ”

John squinted, closed his eyes a little and did not seem to be getting the owl talk and what was her point. Although puzzled by the course of the story, John commented:

“But only Jesus Christ is able to love someone like that.”

“Rather a good example isn't it?” answered the owl with a wink of her left eye.

 “I don't know why you are  telling me this story, Glaucy, Luc was not in any prison or cage; my house had no bars and it wasn't a cage. Luc could come and go as he wanted, so much so  he left.”

Professor Glaucy thought for a moment and replied:

 “John, prisons are not always made of bars alone.”

“So how else can they be made, can you explain me?” he asked in a rather indignant pitch.

“They can be made of guilt, fear and obligation, John. And if you love someone, you will not want to imprison that person by means of guilt, fear and obligation.”

John was feeling outraged, offended, insulted. Anger consumed him like fire. He wanted to jump on the professor’s neck.

“You're misinterpreting me”, he cried, “Know you  that I am het. I am straight and I do not understand where you want to go with this sissy chat. This talk of loving another male. Know you I'm straight,” he glared.

“John thought about pecking the face of that cheeky owl, but when he got up, he had the impression Professor Glaucy was frowning again.

“I just wanted to give an example of how important it is for a person not to be possessive and controller towards the partner he or she loves, John,” she tried to explain.

“He's my business partner,” John spelled, “business.”

“Who said it is different? Can't you love a business partner?”

John fumbled; he seemed to have fallen into a semantic trap he himself had created. He blushed and was confused and ashamed for being hasty, but the predominant feeling was anger. John got angry and took a decisive step toward Professor Glaucy, but he realized that the owl was  bigger than him and held his momentum. The sun was already rising. John looked into the eyes of Professor Glaucy and saw his reflection there again. He saw himself as he really was in her eyes. John wanted to peck her, beat her, but he saw his real size reflected in her eyes and was afraid. Not so much because of the owl's size, but because of his puny reflection on her retina and thought he should not have such boldness. He thought he was bigger than he really was, but he saw his actual size reflected in that owl's staring eyes. Deep inside John did not know if he wanted to punch the owl or annihilate that shy and tiny image reflected in those mysterious eyes.  Then he wished to run away, to leave the heavy and oppressive environment. He did not know whether he wanted to escape from the presence of the owl or from himself. He felt small and flat. So he said goodbye, blinded by rage.

“Goodbye and thank you.”  

 He said these words sharply as he began to flutter his wings ready to fly away.

Professor Glaucy  looked at him with compassion and concluded:

“John, you are a good guy, your heart is full of love, and you are an intelligent, dedicated and selfless person. What you do is not to control people or dominate them, but you do that because you feel insecure and afraid of being abandoned. I know your friend Luc will ponder these things and will reconsider his opinion about you when he finds out that deep inside you are pretty much like the rich man.”

John flew through the window full of confusing and conflicting thoughts. He returned to his nest much faster than when he had flown to the owl's attic.

 When he arrived, his mind was like a whirlwind. He was confused and felt emotionally destabilized. Then he began to think about the final words the owl had said and could not understand if those were just wise words of advice or a kind of omen or a prophecy.

John took a deep breath and after meditating on Professor Glaucy's words he felt calm and serene. A sense of calm and confidence as he had never felt before.

He remembered Milton Nascimento song, which he used to sing with Luc in those moments of joy and relaxation they had together and began to sing:

“Nightingale took over
My life.
He came when I looked for
A reason to follow on.
When music was leaving
And I almost stayed.
When life was weeping,
And I cried the most...”

When he was about to sing the second part of the song, he looked at the nest entrance.  A visage emerged, with a halo of bright sunlight behind him. A sweet bird with short and wide open beak and brown, red, and yellow feathers approached him with a tender look and a gentle and precise rocking.  Luc’s  whole body was enlightened. He opened up his beak  in a sweet velvety tune and then finished the song along with John in a  smooth harmony:

“The Bird
Went around the world
And played.
Nightingale taught me
That I just do not need to fear.
He sang
And dwelt in me.

All the birds
And angels within us:
A harmony brought
By the nightingales...”