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:
“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.
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.' ”
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:
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...
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.
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...”
And angels within us:
A harmony brought
By the nightingales...”
