The Crate
The summer sun split the cloudless sky and pulled all the moisture from the desert sands. Gnarled and twisted trees sat motionless; their brown leaves did not so much as creak in the baking air. A child, bare feet covered with calluses that almost kept him from feeling the heat under his soles, ran as quickly as his short legs could carry him. Sola was slowed by the large wooden crate clutched in his hands. Its dried wood frame beat against his body with each movement, sending its contents into a mass of feathers and angered chirps.
“Mama!” The boy called her name the moment their dwelling came into view and long before she could hear him.
“Mama!” he continued to call as he neared the open doorway. The darkness of the mud-covered walls enveloped him and he almost ran into his mother where she sat fixing a large tear in the boy’s shirt. She turned to her ten-year-old son and put cracked hands on thin hips.
“Look what I found.”
The boy used all of his strength to heft the crate up to her. More feathers came out and it took his mother a moment to count the number of birds within. Six bodies were flying between the thin bars and one body lay still on the floor of the crate.
“I found them by the city gates. All the other cages were broken.”
Her eyes focused on the birds, which had settled onto the one unbroken perch. The small colorful birds would have sold well and made useless pets to those with the money to waste on such things. But she could see why these had been left. The sharp line of their keels peeked out between ruffled chest feathers. Broken and discolored plumage covered their wings and tails. They wouldn’t even be enough to make a meal.
Nervous eyes watched her. The birds were quiet now.
“I’m going to keep them,” Sola said and grabbed the crate back from her. There was more chirping and the sound of hysterical flight in a cramped space.
Sola’s mother stood and looked down at her son. The well was far, and there was no way they could afford seeds for the birds.
Sola just stood there, holding the crate, a smile on his dry lips.
“They need water,” she said.
“Anjene,” the boy called to his older sister.
“No,” the mother cut him off. “You will have to get the water for them.”
“But mama, men don’t carry water. The other boys will laugh at me.”
“You want to keep the birds, you must get them water.”
Sola’s mother watched him think it over. He looked at the floor for several seconds. Finally he re-hefted the crate in his arms and looked back up at her.
“And they need more perches to sit on. Find small sticks that will fit through the bars. You will keep them next to your mat and if they take up too much room you will keep them on your mat.”
“What do they eat?”
“Do you know the bushes that grow at the edge of the river, the ones with the yellow flowers?”
He nodded.
“After the flowers have wilted green pods form; once they turn brown you can break them off and feed out the seeds inside. There are other plants as well, but you’ll have to gather all the seeds yourself. I’m too busy, as are your brother and sister.”
He had gone back to looking at the birds. She knew he didn’t realize the amount of work involved, but if he was willing to get water, he may be able to do enough.
“First though, they need water.” Sola’s mother took the cage from him and pointed towards the door. “If you run you may be able to catch up with Anjene and Otsa. I will look after these until you get back.” She lifted the cage over his head and out of reach. He looked up at the birds again before his feet were pounding the dry earth once more.
Sola already had three pinpricks of blood on his fingers and had only been able to fit one small twig into the crate. The birds were still perched on the original stick and watched him make the final adjustments to the second. This time Sola broke off the thorns first and then slid the twig through the bars.
“Now, move back so they can get to know the new sticks,” Sola’s mother said from the doorway.
Sola scooted back on his sleeping mat and stared at the cage. The birds were still looking around in quick, stilted movements, but after a moment one of the birds hopped from its crowded perch to the one across from it. Sola laughed when it made the hopping movement again to get to the higher branch. Two more birds moved at once and jumped to the second branch. With a ruffle wings that sent two, small, bright blue feathers wafting out of the crate, the remaining three birds took a few steps to space themselves apart and resettled on the original branch. The birds also began to whistle, but not in alarm. They talked to each other. Sola’s mother watched him watch the birds. She smiled when Sola giggled.
Finally she spoke, “They need water. There’s a bowl on the table.”
Sola carefully filled it half way with water and walked with precise steps back to the cage. The door on the cage had a broken lock, but the hinge still worked. Once Sola stepped away one of the birds jumped down next to the bowl and cocked its head to the side. Sola held his breath, willing his body to be still. Slowly the bird approached the bowl, which was at chest height, and looked into the liquid. It hopped onto the edge and dipped its beak into the water. By this time another bird had approached the side. It soon joined the first on the edge and was drinking. Quick, happy chirps resounded in the cage and all of the birds tried to find a place on the edge of the bowl. Sola clapped his hands and sat right next to the crate. Even his mother heard the squeal that came from him when one of the birds dipped its entire head and shoulders into the water and then shook itself. The water droplets flew from the cage and a few landed on Sola’s face. He had never seen a bird take a bath. It was a marvelous thing.
His mother watched and, even though she thought it a waste of water, let him refill the bowl three times before sealing the water jar.
Sola rose early and watched his birds until his mother’s form blocked the light from the door.
“They need food, and so do we. Your brother is with the men watching the tribe’s cattle today, so you must gather the herbs I need. On top of that you must also gather seeds for them,” she pointed at the crate, “or they will die.”
“Yes, mama.”
“Do you have a good memory?”
“The best.”
“Then listen to me.” She began to list the names of plants and shrubs. She gave descriptions and handed him a piece of white cloth onto which her grandmother had embroidered the general appearance of the herbs. When she was done she had him recite everything back to her. Finally she told him about the plants the birds could eat. He was about to run out of the house when she put a hand on his arm.
“Stay on the marked paths and if the antelopes run, you run. Don’t stop until you get back behind the walls of the village.”
“I will. Mama?”
“Yes my sweet Sola?”
“Will you watch the birds while I’m gone?”
“Yes, now go; it gets hotter with every second.”
The heat seemed to scorch his lungs with every breath, but Sola pushed harder and ran faster. He had been breaking seed pods free of their stems when he realized the crickets had stopped their whirring. The shrubs were a little denser this close to the tree line, but Sola could still see the open land where the tan impala were grazing, or had been. The slender antelopes, which were his height, were all looking in his direction. He heard one of the males snort, his nostrils contorting upward with the effort. Another stamped his hoof. The sharp thud traveled well in the dry air. Then suddenly the herd became a mass of dust and moving bodies. Sola heard, or thought he heard, a branch snap behind him and he was running too.
The path back to the village was well worn and edged the open savannah. In the quick glimpse to his right Sola saw the wildebeest and even the tiny gazelles running parallel to him, away from the shadowed scrubland. His legs ached and the bags of seeds bounced against his back. Finally he saw the wooden walls that surrounded his village. The sentinel standing out front, who was armed with a spear and a gun, waved to him to hurry. There was a blur of movement to his right and the panicking herds banked away.
The strong arm of the guard stopped Sola and held him until his breathing slowed.
“Look,” he said and turned Sola back towards the grasses.
Most of the herds were a small smudge of dust in the distance, but a closer, singular spot of movement caught Sola’s attention. The strong muscular arm of a lion clung to the hind quarters of a male impala. The medium-sized antelope was trying to get its horns around to where they could do some good, but the lion moved up and bit down on the impala’s neck. One more tug and the impala dropped, its spine broken.
Sola watched the lion drag the carcass back towards the bushes where he had been collecting seeds.
Sola worked at the hard exterior of the seed pod. This one was almost ripe and he had to wedge his nail into the seam bit by bit before it cracked open and spilled its contents all over his mat. A bowl the same size as the one he used for water sat half filled next to his right leg. He added the spilt seeds, one by one, and sang a song about the thorns of the acacia tree and the quickness of the weaver bird. The melody wove in and out and kept pace with the cracking of his seeds.
Finally he dusted the spent shells off his mat and reached for the cage. The birds did not move as far back when he put this bowl into the crate as when he put in the water. One of the birds actually hopped forward and Sola jerked his hand back, bumping the top perch. The whole cage shook, which sent the birds flying. A blur of blue and green streaked past Sola and out the door.
“No!”
He closed the crate and ran for the opening in the hut. Bracing himself against the doorway he stood as tall as his toes could take him and scanned the surrounding huts. There was a lot of movement, but none of it the right color or shape. He stood for another minute before he noticed the sharp “cracks” coming from behind him. The tears on his face dried while he watched the five remaining birds eat the seeds. He noticed their beaks were able to break through the hard shells, even on the seeds still sealed in their exterior pods. After eating a few seeds, each bird would pace over to the water dish and get a sip. He watched them until it was time to go to the well with Anjene.
Three days later Sola’s mother was sitting at her table, mending another of her children’s torn shirts when Sola ran through the door. He was gripping his hand and crying.
“I was trying to hold one, and when I grabbed it and pulled it out of the cage, it turned and bit me, mama! Then it flew out of the house so fast. I couldn’t catch it and now it’s gone.” His breath came at odd intervals between his words as he tried to breathe and cry at the same time.
She gathered him into her arms and kissed the spot of blood off his finger, letting him wipe the rest on her shirt.
“It’s all right.”
His tears made a wet spot on her blouse, but she didn’t care. When his breathing had slowed she pulled back a little. “They are pretty birds not made for holding. And it is okay that he left. Now the others have more space and more seeds and water. Go make sure the rest are okay.”
“But . . .”
“The bird is gone. The others still need you.”
Sola unfolded from her lap and walked back into the other room.
Sola was able to keep the birds alive two months before he noticed a problem. Three of the birds had begun to pick on the fourth. It was the smallest and didn’t seem to be able to fly as well. The color of its feathers was less vibrant. Sola had not seen it eat for three days and was getting worried.
“Get away from him,” he said and used a small stick to keep the other aggressive birds off of the sick one’s perch. The little bird barely opened its eyes and only chirped when disturbed.
“He’s sick,” he had said to his mother. “What can I do?”
“If he doesn’t get better, you must let him go. Sometimes the sun and the rain and the earth can heal better than the insides of a cage. He may live if you free him.”
Now, Sola sat watching the diminished bird. He looked away, pounded his fist into the mat, and finally reached for the door. It was time. He readied himself for the bite, but it did not come. He closed his hands gently around the feathered body and drew it from the cage. The yellow and green plumage stuck out from between his fingers. He walked to the doorway and paused. A thought came. He gently placed his index finger under the open feet of the bird and its reflexes gripped down. With a jolt of excitement Sola released his grip and pulled his hand away from the bird. He could feel the bird adjusting its balance to the width of his finger. It then ruffled its feathers and turned to look at him. Sola wanted to laugh, to scream, but he just kept very still.
“Hello my friend.”
The bird tilted its head to the side, settled a little further back and pooped on his hand. This time Sola laughed out loud as the hot liquid slid down his skin.
“That’s very rude for someone who’s about to be let go.”
He held his hand out, but the bird did not move. In fact it clung tighter and Sola noticed the sharpness of the claws. He pushed the bird on the back, but it just adjusted its balance. He fought his first instinct, which was to shake his hand. That might hurt the bird. So, he lowered his hand to waist height and then brought his hand up quickly, causing the bird to lose its grip on his finger. The body went up, arced in the air and then began to fall back down. Sola was about to jump forward to catch it when its wings popped open and, after a few shaky beats, the bird was flying off towards the edge of the village. Sola ran after it. The bird dipped in and out of the air, barely missing two huts before flying up and over the village wall.
Sola was just returning from the well, where he had finally persuaded three of the numerous girls gathered there to talk to him, when he saw an oddly shaped brown stick poking out of the cage. Then the stick moved. “Mama, snake!” He ran into the other room and grabbed her hand.
“There’s a snake in the cage!”
His mother followed him and stopped at the doorway. She recognized the fat body of the non-venomous juvenile python and relaxed against the door frame. Sola pulled on her hand, but she kept her weight against the wall.
“They are your birds. You must protect them.”
Sola looked at her one more time and then ran towards the cage.
“Go, get out of here!” He stamped his foot by the head of the snake, which was sticking out of the cage. The brown and yellow snake pulled back and turned its head towards Sola. A flick of the tongue and a hiss was its only response to further stamping.
Sola patted the cage, but the snake just curled into a ball, its head at the center of its body.
He looked to his mother again.
“You must get it out of the cage.”
“Won’t it bite me?”
“It might.”
Sola reached for the door, darted his hand into the cage and wrapped his fingers around the body of the snake. Its scales felt cool and smooth. The snake curled tighter at Sola’s touch. He pulled it free of the cage and ran for the door. His arm was in mid-swing before he hit sunlight and the snake went flying across the space between his hut and the next. Sola didn’t watch it land, he had already turned back to check on his birds. He felt triumphant, victorious. He had defeated the snake. He walked up to the cage and saw only two pairs of eyes looking out at him. That couldn’t be right. He picked the cage up so he could see into all of the shadows. Tears came and he fought the urge to throw the cage to the ground. It wasn’t fair. He had gotten rid of the snake. He set the cage back down, being careful not to spill any water, lay back on the mat and cried.
For the first time in four months it rained. Sola sat on his mat and watched the water fill the space outside his door. The heavy, ever constant drops pounded on the roof and carved little rivers in the dirt. Sola’s mother had set up rain catchers earlier that day. Sola used the fresh water to refill the birds’ water bowl, though they declined to take a bath. He sat on the mat, breaking open seed pods. He was much faster now and the birds made quick, high-pitched chirps. They knew food was coming. Their bowl had been empty for two days, since Sola had not been allowed to leave the tribe’s grounds for fear of a local lion that had been hunting people. But the lion had been killed that morning, and Sola had used the time before the rains to gather a good basketful of seeds.
In a practiced movement he slipped his thumbnail, which he had allowed to grow long, into the seam of the nut shell and pried it open. He tossed the shell aside and dropped the high protein seed into the food bowl. He finished the last three seeds and brushed the shells off his mat. His heart beat faster with what he was going to try next. He opened the cage, placed his hand flat on the floor and then put the food bowl on the other side of his hand. He closed the door as much as possible and waited. The birds were hungry, but did not hop down and begin eating as usual. Their heads tilted back and forth. Finally, the one with a yellow body and a red head crawled down the side of the cage to the floor, looked at his finger and then walked across his skin to get to the bowl. Sola didn’t flinch, or yell, or call for his mother. He sat quietly while the other bird, this one having a green body with an orange head, walked across his hand to get at the seeds. The birds finally jumped onto the edge of the food bowl, but by then Sola’s hand was covered with discarded seed chaff and five pea-sized green and white drops of poop. While he cleaned his hand, he was already thinking of getting them to stand on his finger for a nut.
* * *
“You will not get my birds!”
The thin, gray snake curled in the corner of Sola’s room. It hissed and weaved its head back and forth. Sola stood between it and the crate. Two sets of chirps sounded from the cage, he knew both were still alive.
Sola reached down and picked up the rock he used to crush the harder shelled seeds.
Sola’s mother came into the room. Her eyes widened when she saw the snake.
“Sola, don’t!”
She rushed forward and pulled Sola towards her. He fought, but she held on.
“They are my birds. I must protect them.”
“That snake is death. We must leave.”
“It will eat my birds.”
“No, you must understand me, that other snake was harmless. This one can kill you.”
He turned to face her. “I will not leave them.” He let his body drop, slid from his mother’s fingers and darted forward. He still held the rock in his hand and advanced on the mamba. The pounding of his heart beat all other sounds from his ears. The snake rose a little off the ground and hissed again, showing its all black mouth. Clutching the stone a little tighter, Sola breathed in and out and focused on his enemy.
Sola moved first, bringing the rock down. He missed and the snake’s head streaked forward. Sola felt a sting, but ignored the pain and struck again with the rock. This time he hit the snake and it recoiled. He raised the rock up and brought the smooth stone down hard on the snake’s head. The body moved and Sola smashed its head again. His arm kept rising and falling until all he was doing was pounding bits of blood and bone into the mat. The snake’s body had stopped flopping several minutes before Sola stopped hitting it and threw the rock out the door. He then picked up the body of the snake and ran with it to the edge of the village, where he tossed it outside the wall. A large vulture was sitting a few feet away and it saw the tasty morsel fly through the air. Sola felt good as he watched the white and gray vulture tear the snake into strips and eat it raw.
Sola’s mother came up and turned him to face her.
“Let me see your arm.”
She grabbed his wrist and pulled it towards her. Her hand went to her mouth when she saw the two small puncture marks in the middle of his right forearm. She picked him up and ran for the doctor.
Sola was not awake when his mother and brother lowered him quietly onto his mat next to the crate. He did not see his sister run the distance to the well and back in the shortest time of her life. By the time she’d returned, Sola’s breathing had become very shallow.
The first thing Sola had said in the tribal doctor’s hut was that his arm burned. They placed a tourniquet around his upper arm. Then he lost the ability to stand. An hour of talking nonsense and singing bits of silly songs was followed by fever and a few lucid moments. “Mama, my birds,” was the last thing he said before his eyes closed and his stilted breathing deepened. His mother had not cried when the doctor told her the price for anti-venom; she knew it was as impossible for her to afford as a trip to the city hospital.
While Sola slept, he missed seeing his sister refill the water bowl for his birds every day. He missed seeing his brother accidentally smash his fingers three times while trying to get the shells off of the seeds. His mother wiped his face when he fevered and on the second day caught herself whistling to the birds. Even she smiled when they chirped in response. One time she thought she heard one of them whistle the tune of the acacia tree and weaver bird song. She wondered how often Sola had sung it for them. She watched them groom each other and then, when one grew tired of being preened, it would make sharp chirps and fight with the other. She laughed and cried and pleaded with her son to wake up.
Ten days of caring for her son had put Sola’s mother behind in the house duties. He was still resting and she had gone into the other room to continue weaving the shirt she had started for him over a week ago when she noticed the chirps. Loud, quick barks of sound echoed to her from the other room. Anjene was at the river washing clothes and Otsa was in the city buying a new cooking pot. Sola’s mother’s heart sped up. The thought of another snake gripped her. She was almost around the door when she heard another sound.
“Mama?”
She was already crying when she reached his mat. Sola sat up a little and she hugged him hard.
“Mama?”
“Yes, my beloved Sola.”
“The birds . . .”
She smiled. “They are fine.”
“No, look.”
She pulled back and turned to the cage. One of the birds, the yellow one, was sitting in a pile of woven grass and leaves. The bird stood to readjust and a glimpse of white peeked out from beneath her.
“It’s an egg isn’t it, mama.”
“Mama!” The boy called her name the moment their dwelling came into view and long before she could hear him.
“Mama!” he continued to call as he neared the open doorway. The darkness of the mud-covered walls enveloped him and he almost ran into his mother where she sat fixing a large tear in the boy’s shirt. She turned to her ten-year-old son and put cracked hands on thin hips.
“Look what I found.”
The boy used all of his strength to heft the crate up to her. More feathers came out and it took his mother a moment to count the number of birds within. Six bodies were flying between the thin bars and one body lay still on the floor of the crate.
“I found them by the city gates. All the other cages were broken.”
Her eyes focused on the birds, which had settled onto the one unbroken perch. The small colorful birds would have sold well and made useless pets to those with the money to waste on such things. But she could see why these had been left. The sharp line of their keels peeked out between ruffled chest feathers. Broken and discolored plumage covered their wings and tails. They wouldn’t even be enough to make a meal.
Nervous eyes watched her. The birds were quiet now.
“I’m going to keep them,” Sola said and grabbed the crate back from her. There was more chirping and the sound of hysterical flight in a cramped space.
Sola’s mother stood and looked down at her son. The well was far, and there was no way they could afford seeds for the birds.
Sola just stood there, holding the crate, a smile on his dry lips.
“They need water,” she said.
“Anjene,” the boy called to his older sister.
“No,” the mother cut him off. “You will have to get the water for them.”
“But mama, men don’t carry water. The other boys will laugh at me.”
“You want to keep the birds, you must get them water.”
Sola’s mother watched him think it over. He looked at the floor for several seconds. Finally he re-hefted the crate in his arms and looked back up at her.
“And they need more perches to sit on. Find small sticks that will fit through the bars. You will keep them next to your mat and if they take up too much room you will keep them on your mat.”
“What do they eat?”
“Do you know the bushes that grow at the edge of the river, the ones with the yellow flowers?”
He nodded.
“After the flowers have wilted green pods form; once they turn brown you can break them off and feed out the seeds inside. There are other plants as well, but you’ll have to gather all the seeds yourself. I’m too busy, as are your brother and sister.”
He had gone back to looking at the birds. She knew he didn’t realize the amount of work involved, but if he was willing to get water, he may be able to do enough.
“First though, they need water.” Sola’s mother took the cage from him and pointed towards the door. “If you run you may be able to catch up with Anjene and Otsa. I will look after these until you get back.” She lifted the cage over his head and out of reach. He looked up at the birds again before his feet were pounding the dry earth once more.
Sola already had three pinpricks of blood on his fingers and had only been able to fit one small twig into the crate. The birds were still perched on the original stick and watched him make the final adjustments to the second. This time Sola broke off the thorns first and then slid the twig through the bars.
“Now, move back so they can get to know the new sticks,” Sola’s mother said from the doorway.
Sola scooted back on his sleeping mat and stared at the cage. The birds were still looking around in quick, stilted movements, but after a moment one of the birds hopped from its crowded perch to the one across from it. Sola laughed when it made the hopping movement again to get to the higher branch. Two more birds moved at once and jumped to the second branch. With a ruffle wings that sent two, small, bright blue feathers wafting out of the crate, the remaining three birds took a few steps to space themselves apart and resettled on the original branch. The birds also began to whistle, but not in alarm. They talked to each other. Sola’s mother watched him watch the birds. She smiled when Sola giggled.
Finally she spoke, “They need water. There’s a bowl on the table.”
Sola carefully filled it half way with water and walked with precise steps back to the cage. The door on the cage had a broken lock, but the hinge still worked. Once Sola stepped away one of the birds jumped down next to the bowl and cocked its head to the side. Sola held his breath, willing his body to be still. Slowly the bird approached the bowl, which was at chest height, and looked into the liquid. It hopped onto the edge and dipped its beak into the water. By this time another bird had approached the side. It soon joined the first on the edge and was drinking. Quick, happy chirps resounded in the cage and all of the birds tried to find a place on the edge of the bowl. Sola clapped his hands and sat right next to the crate. Even his mother heard the squeal that came from him when one of the birds dipped its entire head and shoulders into the water and then shook itself. The water droplets flew from the cage and a few landed on Sola’s face. He had never seen a bird take a bath. It was a marvelous thing.
His mother watched and, even though she thought it a waste of water, let him refill the bowl three times before sealing the water jar.
Sola rose early and watched his birds until his mother’s form blocked the light from the door.
“They need food, and so do we. Your brother is with the men watching the tribe’s cattle today, so you must gather the herbs I need. On top of that you must also gather seeds for them,” she pointed at the crate, “or they will die.”
“Yes, mama.”
“Do you have a good memory?”
“The best.”
“Then listen to me.” She began to list the names of plants and shrubs. She gave descriptions and handed him a piece of white cloth onto which her grandmother had embroidered the general appearance of the herbs. When she was done she had him recite everything back to her. Finally she told him about the plants the birds could eat. He was about to run out of the house when she put a hand on his arm.
“Stay on the marked paths and if the antelopes run, you run. Don’t stop until you get back behind the walls of the village.”
“I will. Mama?”
“Yes my sweet Sola?”
“Will you watch the birds while I’m gone?”
“Yes, now go; it gets hotter with every second.”
The heat seemed to scorch his lungs with every breath, but Sola pushed harder and ran faster. He had been breaking seed pods free of their stems when he realized the crickets had stopped their whirring. The shrubs were a little denser this close to the tree line, but Sola could still see the open land where the tan impala were grazing, or had been. The slender antelopes, which were his height, were all looking in his direction. He heard one of the males snort, his nostrils contorting upward with the effort. Another stamped his hoof. The sharp thud traveled well in the dry air. Then suddenly the herd became a mass of dust and moving bodies. Sola heard, or thought he heard, a branch snap behind him and he was running too.
The path back to the village was well worn and edged the open savannah. In the quick glimpse to his right Sola saw the wildebeest and even the tiny gazelles running parallel to him, away from the shadowed scrubland. His legs ached and the bags of seeds bounced against his back. Finally he saw the wooden walls that surrounded his village. The sentinel standing out front, who was armed with a spear and a gun, waved to him to hurry. There was a blur of movement to his right and the panicking herds banked away.
The strong arm of the guard stopped Sola and held him until his breathing slowed.
“Look,” he said and turned Sola back towards the grasses.
Most of the herds were a small smudge of dust in the distance, but a closer, singular spot of movement caught Sola’s attention. The strong muscular arm of a lion clung to the hind quarters of a male impala. The medium-sized antelope was trying to get its horns around to where they could do some good, but the lion moved up and bit down on the impala’s neck. One more tug and the impala dropped, its spine broken.
Sola watched the lion drag the carcass back towards the bushes where he had been collecting seeds.
Sola worked at the hard exterior of the seed pod. This one was almost ripe and he had to wedge his nail into the seam bit by bit before it cracked open and spilled its contents all over his mat. A bowl the same size as the one he used for water sat half filled next to his right leg. He added the spilt seeds, one by one, and sang a song about the thorns of the acacia tree and the quickness of the weaver bird. The melody wove in and out and kept pace with the cracking of his seeds.
Finally he dusted the spent shells off his mat and reached for the cage. The birds did not move as far back when he put this bowl into the crate as when he put in the water. One of the birds actually hopped forward and Sola jerked his hand back, bumping the top perch. The whole cage shook, which sent the birds flying. A blur of blue and green streaked past Sola and out the door.
“No!”
He closed the crate and ran for the opening in the hut. Bracing himself against the doorway he stood as tall as his toes could take him and scanned the surrounding huts. There was a lot of movement, but none of it the right color or shape. He stood for another minute before he noticed the sharp “cracks” coming from behind him. The tears on his face dried while he watched the five remaining birds eat the seeds. He noticed their beaks were able to break through the hard shells, even on the seeds still sealed in their exterior pods. After eating a few seeds, each bird would pace over to the water dish and get a sip. He watched them until it was time to go to the well with Anjene.
Three days later Sola’s mother was sitting at her table, mending another of her children’s torn shirts when Sola ran through the door. He was gripping his hand and crying.
“I was trying to hold one, and when I grabbed it and pulled it out of the cage, it turned and bit me, mama! Then it flew out of the house so fast. I couldn’t catch it and now it’s gone.” His breath came at odd intervals between his words as he tried to breathe and cry at the same time.
She gathered him into her arms and kissed the spot of blood off his finger, letting him wipe the rest on her shirt.
“It’s all right.”
His tears made a wet spot on her blouse, but she didn’t care. When his breathing had slowed she pulled back a little. “They are pretty birds not made for holding. And it is okay that he left. Now the others have more space and more seeds and water. Go make sure the rest are okay.”
“But . . .”
“The bird is gone. The others still need you.”
Sola unfolded from her lap and walked back into the other room.
Sola was able to keep the birds alive two months before he noticed a problem. Three of the birds had begun to pick on the fourth. It was the smallest and didn’t seem to be able to fly as well. The color of its feathers was less vibrant. Sola had not seen it eat for three days and was getting worried.
“Get away from him,” he said and used a small stick to keep the other aggressive birds off of the sick one’s perch. The little bird barely opened its eyes and only chirped when disturbed.
“He’s sick,” he had said to his mother. “What can I do?”
“If he doesn’t get better, you must let him go. Sometimes the sun and the rain and the earth can heal better than the insides of a cage. He may live if you free him.”
Now, Sola sat watching the diminished bird. He looked away, pounded his fist into the mat, and finally reached for the door. It was time. He readied himself for the bite, but it did not come. He closed his hands gently around the feathered body and drew it from the cage. The yellow and green plumage stuck out from between his fingers. He walked to the doorway and paused. A thought came. He gently placed his index finger under the open feet of the bird and its reflexes gripped down. With a jolt of excitement Sola released his grip and pulled his hand away from the bird. He could feel the bird adjusting its balance to the width of his finger. It then ruffled its feathers and turned to look at him. Sola wanted to laugh, to scream, but he just kept very still.
“Hello my friend.”
The bird tilted its head to the side, settled a little further back and pooped on his hand. This time Sola laughed out loud as the hot liquid slid down his skin.
“That’s very rude for someone who’s about to be let go.”
He held his hand out, but the bird did not move. In fact it clung tighter and Sola noticed the sharpness of the claws. He pushed the bird on the back, but it just adjusted its balance. He fought his first instinct, which was to shake his hand. That might hurt the bird. So, he lowered his hand to waist height and then brought his hand up quickly, causing the bird to lose its grip on his finger. The body went up, arced in the air and then began to fall back down. Sola was about to jump forward to catch it when its wings popped open and, after a few shaky beats, the bird was flying off towards the edge of the village. Sola ran after it. The bird dipped in and out of the air, barely missing two huts before flying up and over the village wall.
Sola was just returning from the well, where he had finally persuaded three of the numerous girls gathered there to talk to him, when he saw an oddly shaped brown stick poking out of the cage. Then the stick moved. “Mama, snake!” He ran into the other room and grabbed her hand.
“There’s a snake in the cage!”
His mother followed him and stopped at the doorway. She recognized the fat body of the non-venomous juvenile python and relaxed against the door frame. Sola pulled on her hand, but she kept her weight against the wall.
“They are your birds. You must protect them.”
Sola looked at her one more time and then ran towards the cage.
“Go, get out of here!” He stamped his foot by the head of the snake, which was sticking out of the cage. The brown and yellow snake pulled back and turned its head towards Sola. A flick of the tongue and a hiss was its only response to further stamping.
Sola patted the cage, but the snake just curled into a ball, its head at the center of its body.
He looked to his mother again.
“You must get it out of the cage.”
“Won’t it bite me?”
“It might.”
Sola reached for the door, darted his hand into the cage and wrapped his fingers around the body of the snake. Its scales felt cool and smooth. The snake curled tighter at Sola’s touch. He pulled it free of the cage and ran for the door. His arm was in mid-swing before he hit sunlight and the snake went flying across the space between his hut and the next. Sola didn’t watch it land, he had already turned back to check on his birds. He felt triumphant, victorious. He had defeated the snake. He walked up to the cage and saw only two pairs of eyes looking out at him. That couldn’t be right. He picked the cage up so he could see into all of the shadows. Tears came and he fought the urge to throw the cage to the ground. It wasn’t fair. He had gotten rid of the snake. He set the cage back down, being careful not to spill any water, lay back on the mat and cried.
For the first time in four months it rained. Sola sat on his mat and watched the water fill the space outside his door. The heavy, ever constant drops pounded on the roof and carved little rivers in the dirt. Sola’s mother had set up rain catchers earlier that day. Sola used the fresh water to refill the birds’ water bowl, though they declined to take a bath. He sat on the mat, breaking open seed pods. He was much faster now and the birds made quick, high-pitched chirps. They knew food was coming. Their bowl had been empty for two days, since Sola had not been allowed to leave the tribe’s grounds for fear of a local lion that had been hunting people. But the lion had been killed that morning, and Sola had used the time before the rains to gather a good basketful of seeds.
In a practiced movement he slipped his thumbnail, which he had allowed to grow long, into the seam of the nut shell and pried it open. He tossed the shell aside and dropped the high protein seed into the food bowl. He finished the last three seeds and brushed the shells off his mat. His heart beat faster with what he was going to try next. He opened the cage, placed his hand flat on the floor and then put the food bowl on the other side of his hand. He closed the door as much as possible and waited. The birds were hungry, but did not hop down and begin eating as usual. Their heads tilted back and forth. Finally, the one with a yellow body and a red head crawled down the side of the cage to the floor, looked at his finger and then walked across his skin to get to the bowl. Sola didn’t flinch, or yell, or call for his mother. He sat quietly while the other bird, this one having a green body with an orange head, walked across his hand to get at the seeds. The birds finally jumped onto the edge of the food bowl, but by then Sola’s hand was covered with discarded seed chaff and five pea-sized green and white drops of poop. While he cleaned his hand, he was already thinking of getting them to stand on his finger for a nut.
* * *
“You will not get my birds!”
The thin, gray snake curled in the corner of Sola’s room. It hissed and weaved its head back and forth. Sola stood between it and the crate. Two sets of chirps sounded from the cage, he knew both were still alive.
Sola reached down and picked up the rock he used to crush the harder shelled seeds.
Sola’s mother came into the room. Her eyes widened when she saw the snake.
“Sola, don’t!”
She rushed forward and pulled Sola towards her. He fought, but she held on.
“They are my birds. I must protect them.”
“That snake is death. We must leave.”
“It will eat my birds.”
“No, you must understand me, that other snake was harmless. This one can kill you.”
He turned to face her. “I will not leave them.” He let his body drop, slid from his mother’s fingers and darted forward. He still held the rock in his hand and advanced on the mamba. The pounding of his heart beat all other sounds from his ears. The snake rose a little off the ground and hissed again, showing its all black mouth. Clutching the stone a little tighter, Sola breathed in and out and focused on his enemy.
Sola moved first, bringing the rock down. He missed and the snake’s head streaked forward. Sola felt a sting, but ignored the pain and struck again with the rock. This time he hit the snake and it recoiled. He raised the rock up and brought the smooth stone down hard on the snake’s head. The body moved and Sola smashed its head again. His arm kept rising and falling until all he was doing was pounding bits of blood and bone into the mat. The snake’s body had stopped flopping several minutes before Sola stopped hitting it and threw the rock out the door. He then picked up the body of the snake and ran with it to the edge of the village, where he tossed it outside the wall. A large vulture was sitting a few feet away and it saw the tasty morsel fly through the air. Sola felt good as he watched the white and gray vulture tear the snake into strips and eat it raw.
Sola’s mother came up and turned him to face her.
“Let me see your arm.”
She grabbed his wrist and pulled it towards her. Her hand went to her mouth when she saw the two small puncture marks in the middle of his right forearm. She picked him up and ran for the doctor.
Sola was not awake when his mother and brother lowered him quietly onto his mat next to the crate. He did not see his sister run the distance to the well and back in the shortest time of her life. By the time she’d returned, Sola’s breathing had become very shallow.
The first thing Sola had said in the tribal doctor’s hut was that his arm burned. They placed a tourniquet around his upper arm. Then he lost the ability to stand. An hour of talking nonsense and singing bits of silly songs was followed by fever and a few lucid moments. “Mama, my birds,” was the last thing he said before his eyes closed and his stilted breathing deepened. His mother had not cried when the doctor told her the price for anti-venom; she knew it was as impossible for her to afford as a trip to the city hospital.
While Sola slept, he missed seeing his sister refill the water bowl for his birds every day. He missed seeing his brother accidentally smash his fingers three times while trying to get the shells off of the seeds. His mother wiped his face when he fevered and on the second day caught herself whistling to the birds. Even she smiled when they chirped in response. One time she thought she heard one of them whistle the tune of the acacia tree and weaver bird song. She wondered how often Sola had sung it for them. She watched them groom each other and then, when one grew tired of being preened, it would make sharp chirps and fight with the other. She laughed and cried and pleaded with her son to wake up.
Ten days of caring for her son had put Sola’s mother behind in the house duties. He was still resting and she had gone into the other room to continue weaving the shirt she had started for him over a week ago when she noticed the chirps. Loud, quick barks of sound echoed to her from the other room. Anjene was at the river washing clothes and Otsa was in the city buying a new cooking pot. Sola’s mother’s heart sped up. The thought of another snake gripped her. She was almost around the door when she heard another sound.
“Mama?”
She was already crying when she reached his mat. Sola sat up a little and she hugged him hard.
“Mama?”
“Yes, my beloved Sola.”
“The birds . . .”
She smiled. “They are fine.”
“No, look.”
She pulled back and turned to the cage. One of the birds, the yellow one, was sitting in a pile of woven grass and leaves. The bird stood to readjust and a glimpse of white peeked out from beneath her.
“It’s an egg isn’t it, mama.”
