Birdy

after baby birds leave a nest, the mother bird just forgets them. At least, that’s Birdie’s way. The weather is getting warmer now, so Birdie isn’t so passionate at sitting as the first time. Sometimes she’ll take as much as fifteen minutes off the nest to preen her feathers. With Alfonso up there anyway, hovering over the nest, there’s no real danger. I don’t think Alfonso really sits on the eggs, not the way Birdie does. He spreads his legs and straddles the eggs, more like he’s protecting them than as if he’s trying to brood. If Birdie abandoned the nest or died, I don’t think Alfonso could hatch the eggs.
    The babies are growing fast. The growth of their tails seems tobe stimulated by flight, or maybe it’s the other way around. By the time they’re five weeks old, I can scarcely tell them from grown birds. Some have started cracking seed already. Until all of them can do that, they aren’t really safe. The book says the real test is when they molt their baby feathers and grow in the first adult feathers. I’m not worried too much; they look so healthy.
    It occurs to me one evening as I’m feeding the birds that all I did was put two birds in the aviary, some food and water and nothing else and now there are six of them. I know this is perfectly natural, it’s one of the things life is all about, but to have it happen in my bedroom, under my own eyes, is magic.
    My aviary begins to look and sound like the real thing. There is the continual fluttering of wings, the sounds of birds calling to each other and the sounds of beaks being wiped on the perches. My mother, who hasn’t been paying too much attention, accuses me one night at dinner of having bought more birds. I explain they’re the babies of my first two. She goes Harumph, sneaks a look at my father, who’s putting a piece of baked potato in his mouth, then says they’re beginning to stink up the whole house. It scares me when she talks like that. She has so much power over my life and the world of birds in my bedroom .
    The next day I buy some stuff in a bottle that makes everything smell like pine trees. I put it around in all corners of my room but not in the cage. My room begins to smell like a fake forest. It’s such a terrific thing having birds, I’ll do anything to keep them.

That afternoon, I stay on again to watch Birdy being fed. I ask Renaldi if I can come in. He says it’s against the rules but it’s OK with him. He opens the door with his keys and I push the cart in behind him.
    Birdy’s squatting there watching us; he’s watching me more than anything. I’m convinced he’s bullshitting me now. Maybe he wasn’t before, but now he is. I push the tray to the side and stand in front of Birdy. Renaldi goes around the cart and lifts covers off the food.
    ‘Well, Birdy; I’m here. This is Al and you know it, you bastard. Are you really going to squat there flapping your arms like a baby canary while this guy feeds you?’
    I say this to him in a quiet voice while Renaldi tinkers with the food. Birdy is looking at me full face, no shifting from eye to eye, none of that bird business. He’s looking at me; his eyes aren’t even wiggling. I can’t say he shows any signs of recognition but he’s definitely looking me over, seeing if he can trust me. It’s Birdy all right, but he’s different. This isn’t the old Birdy who used to believe everything; he looks as if he can’t believe anything anymore. He doesn’t look as if he can even believe in himself.
    Renaldi signals with some cereal and a spoon to me that I can feed him if I want. I reach over and take the bowl and spoon from Renaldi. He’s checking the doors to see if anybody’s looking in. What’re they going to do, fire him? They aren’t paying him or anything; they tried putting him in the army, that didn’t work.They can’t kill him. It’s stupid how most of us get in the habit, looking all the time to see if somebody’s watching us, as if they’re going to catch us doing something wrong. Somewhere, when we’re kids, our parents and the shits at school get us all feeling guilty about almost everything.
    I hold the food and the spoon out in front of Birdy’s face. He keeps looking at my eyes, not at the food.
    – All right now, Birdy. It’s time to start flipping your wings and peeping. I don’t believe it.
    He doesn’t move.
    ‘OK. I’ll feed you anyway. This is all ridiculous. If you could see yourself squatting there on the